


I Swear I'd Burn This City Down (To Show You the Light)

by JaydenMichaelis



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Male Character, Fall Out Boy Lyrics, Falling In Love, Gay, Genderqueer Character, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Pansexual Character, Phanfiction, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, YouTube, dan and phil aren't suicidal though, minor trans character, smoking scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5238620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenMichaelis/pseuds/JaydenMichaelis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil (AKA Amazingphil) and dress wearing Dan (AKA Danisnotonfire) are two very odd people. A romantic relationship between them could easily be the best thing in the world, or it could explode.<br/>Either way, things will catch fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bury Me Standing Under Your Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song by Fall Out Boy, The Pros and Cons of Breathing on album Take This To Your Grave.  
> link: https://open.spotify.com/track/3koOoLN69AAiw5JCQNaZMe

Dan p.o.v

I walked through the unsurprisingly chaotic hallways of my highschool, carefully trying to avoid flying projectiles and kids acting as flying projectiles. I walked fast, trying not to drop my phone, which was blasting my favorite song by fall out boy, The Pros and Cons of Breathing.  
I kept my head tucked low, my stupidly still-brown fringe falling into my face. It literally only had one streak of color, a single black chunk near the outside of my bangs. I had snakebite piercings on my lips, two piercings on each of my ears, I wore eyeliner and sometimes even black lipstick. But oh no, no black hair for me, says mum.  
I loved my piercings and makeup but often got made fun of for it, especially the days I pair it with a simple black dress. I'm not transgender, I mean I support trangenderism, but I'm just a cisgender guy who likes to wear dresses and I don't understand what's wrong with it. Although I mostly wear ripped jeans and band shirts, the occasional skirt can't hurt.  
Today, however, was a dress day. More and more often I get the feeling for wearing dresses these days. Ah, well. It was a nice dress, small and black with t-shirt sleeves and frayed hems. I had on no lipstick but quiet a bit of eyeliner. Aces.  
Apparently no one else thought it was aces because as I was lost in thought on the ethics of cismale dress wearers, I felt a hard shove and the feel of cold metal slamming into my back and shoulders .004 seconds later. "Buy a new dress, Howell?" he spat the word dress like it was lava, and didn't want to get burned by it. I looked up to see it was Tom Evans. I'd like to say he was a big buff jock and I would get beat to a pulp if I fought him but sadly this is not the case.  
He was about as tall as Michael Jordan or whoever, I'll give him that, but he weighed less than I did and had the muscle mass of a newborn baby squirrel. Yet he was intimidating, mostly because he had six clones of him who followed his every lead. Namely Joey, Josh, Kellin, and two other kids who never got acknowledged but for some reason still followed Evan and the others around.  
I said nothing, like I usually did, but stared at the floor, holding back a smirk. He thought he was so powerful, but he never did anything. Whatever. Let him think he has me scared.  
I noticed my phone had dropped on the floor. I pulled away from him, something I never usually did, but my phone never usually ended up on the floor either. I usually take very good care of it, careful not to drop it.  
I stopped to pick it up. "What are you doing?" Evans asked perplexedly. I turned around awkwardly.  
"Ah, picking up my phone?" I answered with a question. He snapped a quick why like it wasn't obvious. "Because my phone was on the floor? And I don't want it on the floor?" I answered with more questions.  
He seethed. Jeez, what's your problem? I thought. I turned to walk away. He let me go with a warning:  
"You're my problem, Dan Howell. And you better watch your back." It turned out it had not just been a thought. Creepy.  
I walked into my first hour, hurrying to my seat before the bell rang. I was surprised to see that instead of an empty seat, mine was taken by a sleeping boy with hot pink hair. Or girl. Whatever, how should I know how they identify?  
The bell rang, shrill and high, but still he laid there, breathing deep. He twitched often, like he was dreaming. I didn't realize I was staring until my teacher barked, "Mrs. Dan? He's new, you could sit next to him, instead of gawking at him." I sat in the empty seat, quietly flipping my middle finger at her back. She knew damn good and well I was cismale.  
"Are you transgender or something?" I jumped, looking to my side. The kid had woke up, his pink hair mussed and eyes obviously tired. I groaned. "I'll take that as a no," he said, "I'm Phil, Phil Lester. Your name, Mister Dan?" I raised an eyebrow. He chuckled. "Last name." he corrected.  
"Howell," I replied. He looked me up and down, but it wasn't mean, just curious. I did the same for him but more subtle. I saw his hair was dark at the roots, like it was naturally black, and he had cyber bites, one piercing on the middle top lip and the other on the middle bottom. He wore blue skinny jeans, a black tank top, leather jacket, and fingerless gloves. He wore mostly black, but for his jeans and hair. He wore slight black eyeliner. Gages, small ones, black and shaped like hearts.  
He was a total mixed signal. But he was hot, and so far nice. He smiled at me, said he needed to sleep, but to meet him after class. He put his head down and I tried to pay attention to algebra. It was hard.  
Especially since instead of really sleeping, he sneakily tried to stare at me. It was very creepy in a very cute way.  
Aces.


	2. ...With the Cinder Block in Hand

Dan's P.O.V.  
I was out of my seat the second the bell rang, flipping Mrs. Kea off as many times as is possible while running out of the door.  
"Dan! Hey, Dan!" I turned to see Phil running after me, his pink hair flipping crazily all over the place. So fucking cute, I thought.  
I laughed, trying not to giggle as he straightened both his stride and his hair out. "I swear I thought you were going to leave me behind," he said, slightly out of breath. He gave me a winning smile.  
"Do you want to go to the courtyard?" I asked. He widened his eyes in surprise. "What?"  
"We're allowed to go there? Right now?" he spoke quickly, as if afraid the opportunity would go away.  
"Uh, yeah." I started walking, him following me. "Didn't you have a courtyard at your other school?" I asked, thinking maybe he was just excited because there'd never been one at his old school.  
Suddenly he looked pained and awkward, his face pinched. "Yeah..." he said, "...but it was permanently locked, except for when they gave a lesson out there. Which was often, actually. Nearly every day." this time it was my turn for my eyes to widen.  
"That would be awesome!" I said. He frowned. "What? What's wrong?" I asked.  
"Let's just say they weren't the funnest lessons. Like... algebra. Yeah... algebra was totally it." I could tell by the look on his face he was lying, but I didn't push it because I'd only just met him.  
We arrived at the courtyard. I checked my phone, happy to see we had four of five minutes left. "Here we are! We have four entire minutes to..."

Phil's P.O.V.

"We have four entire minutes to..." I stopped listening when we entered the courtyard. it was nothing like my old school, I'll give it that, but it was still a courtyard. I think Dan could tell I was lying when I said we'd had algebra lessons out there, which was surprising because I've become very good at lying and that was my best lying face.  
If I'm going to be around him, I would eventually have to tell him about EastRidge. I shuddered. I was going to wait as long as possible for that one.  
"So what d'you want to do?" Dan's words slurred together as he mumbled them. They were barely distinguishable.  
"Maybe just sit," I said, hopping up onto the bench of a picnic table, and then sitting my butt on the actual table. Dan did the same, crossing his legs. I looked at him and smirked. He blushed.  
"What? You're supposed to cross your legs while wearing a dress," he said, blushing more so he looked the same shade as my hair.  
I furrowed my eyebrows. "Why do you wear dresses?" I said, looking at the hem of his dress, to his legs, which were obviously shaved just for dress wearing. He swung his crossed legs before starting,  
"My mum used to dress me up in them when I was little. I'm sure everyone who has a sister has had that happen. For me it was my mum. But instead of stopping when I turned six, she gave me a choice. 'Pick what you want to wear now, Dan' she'd said. You could say she's a progressive mother. When people would make fun of me, or when the teacher would call or send me home, she'd say something like 'get with the times, he can wear it if he wants to, I'm not forcing him.' She's just ... like that, you know. Ready to support me whenever, wherever. She'd hide the body if I needed her to. You know?"  
I stared at him the whole time, watching his lips move while he spoke passionately. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. I'm not going to say I was already in love with him or anything, because things don't really happen like that, but I could see us dating.  
When he finished he stared at me, wincing. "Did I say too much?" he asked, obviously hurt if I was to say yes.  
"No," I assured him, "It was perfect. You showed me you, which I don't often get to see with people" he smiled, looking ready to explode with happiness. I was sure he didn't usually do things like that. Nobody really did. He took a chance, jumped, and made it out more than alive.  
I think we were going to be good friends.  
At that moment the bell rang, and I realized we were definitely late. I hopped off the table, expertly concealing my stumble caused by my bad ankle. "You okay?" he automatically asked. Jesus, this kid saw everything.  
I answered yeah, then said, "Well, we're already late. Let's compare schedules. Let me see yours." he handed his over, and I compared them side by side. We actually had a lot of classes together. Cliche sounding, I know, but actually not that surprising.

Name: Howell, Daniel  
gender: M

period 1: Algebra 2  
period 2: Fashion Studies & Sewing  
period 3: Biology  
period 4: World History  
period 5: Advanced Psychology (Lunch shift 2)  
period 6: Advanced Writing  
period 7: Poetry and Prose

"Other than algebra we have Biology, World History, Advanced Writing, and the poetry class together. Oh, and lunch." He beamed.  
"Cool!" he exclaimed, "Well, you know what else I have. What are your other three?" I glanced down at my schedule. Taking up my second period, where he had Fashion, was Special Education 921. I gulped. The other two were cooking for period 5 and European Literature for period 6. I told him about the last two, then started to ask him where Special Education was, but stopped short before I said it.  
I didn't want him to know I was in that class. I know its weird I'm in there, seeing as I'm taking all higher level classes. But that's because I don't need it. Actually, I'm not even taking special ed. They just call it special ed to protect me. To protect us. It wasn't special ed... it was trauma counseling disguised as special ed. I wish it was special ed, I really do. There's nothing wrong with being in a real special education class... but being in trauma counseling meant there was still something wrong with me.  
"What?" he asked, titling his head slightly. I gulped. I shook off my funk, and grabbed my stuff. I could find it on my own.  
"We have to get to class," I said, cheerier. I wasn't faking it, like he wasn't faking his concern. I wasn't going to let this affect me. His body stifled and he sighed.  
This time it was my turn to be concerned. "What's wrong?" I asked. He let his shoulders slump.  
"I hate that class," he admitted sadly. I looked at him, surprised. He looked back at me. "I know, it's a class someone like me would usually love. But it makes me feel worthless. They single me out because I'm the guy, but even when they give me a chance to sew a men's jacket, I'd rather sew a dress." He grimaced.  
"Stupid," I mumbled. He looked at me, hurt. Had he heard me? "No,no, Dan! Not you, them. They're stupid. Not you. Never you," I said quickly. He was my only friend. I didn't want to lose him. He smirked. What?  
"Its fine, Phil. Just wanted to see how much you would grovel." he winked.  
"You jerk face," I said, "You tricked me!" we both laughed. "Well, if you were actually serious about hating the class - be honest, Mr. Howell - we can skip," I said simply.  
"You are not serious," he said, "We need education." he looked at me sideways, as if hoping I had an excuse. Which I did.  
"Ah, but neither of us actually need or want to go to our next class. Let's make it, DA NA NA NA, our skip class!" I applauded to a nonexistent audience.  
"You are such a bad ass," he said, waggling his fingers at me. "We shall not go to class, then," he sat back down on the bench. "Ah, we're not staying out here, are we?" I laughed.  
"You, my friend, know nothing of being bad. I have a car, let's go." I picked up my stuff and gestured for him to do the same.  
"Where are we going, then?" he asked. I thought for a second.  
"What's your favorite place in the world?" I asked. Now he thought.  
"My room. My mum's not there but we'd have to sneak you in there because I don't have a key." I smiled and snapped my fingers.  
"Now we're talking," I said. He groaned.  
"My mum is going to kill me and bury me in the yard," he whined.  
I was going to sneak into a dress-wearing boy's bedroom.  
How... badass.


	3. Mr. Benzedrine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SONG MENTIONED: 20 Dollar Nosebleed by Fall Out Boy on album Follie à Deux. link: https://open.spotify.com/track/3RHZzTT1RhYV6zicKUc4FM

Dan's P.O.V

Getting out was easier than I thought it would be. We breezed straight out of the front doors and continued down the street from the school. "How close is your house?" Phil asked.

"Not far," I said, "I live pretty close. I walk to school most days, actually." He smiled. I lead him off the school's street to the right. "It's a few houses down here, just conveniently out of sight of the school," I added. Phil gave a devilish smile. I laughed. He was a nutcase.

We came upon my house, blue with a red door. Cheesy, I know, but it was also cheap and pretty big. "God, this must've been an expensive house," Phil commented, as if reading my mind. I shrugged.

"Not really. They sold it to us for cheap. I think mum said that they said it used to be haunted. Or something," I said casually. I hoped he wasn't one of those superstitious people who swear to God over-the-phone psychics are completely accurate.

He chuckled. "Now, how do we get in there?" he asked, becoming semi serious now. "Tell me it's not a second floor window," he groaned. I shook my head. He sighed in relief.

"It's a third floor," I corrected.

"WHAT?" he said he smacked his hand on his forehead. "Tell me you're kidding, Daniel." I shook my head. "Then how," he stopped to look at me, making my face heat up, "Are we getting in?" I thought for a moment.

"The living room window. It's usually not locked, and it's on the first floor," he perked up.  "It's slightly higher up than regular windows, but that's okay because we're both tall," I added. He clapped and stuck his tongue out a little.

"You, Mister Howell, are now an official bad boy." he said, clapping his hand on my shoulder. "You're ready to go, soldier," he said triumphantly. I rolled my eyes.

"It's badass, not a soldier," I said. Phil shook his head. He scowled.

"I don't curse," he admitted. I looked at him, puzzled. "What?" he asked, "I just don't like to. Now, let's break into your house already." he started walking toward it, then turned around and said, "I don't know your house." I rolled my eyes again and lead him around to the left side.

"We have to be careful to not get seen," I said, "Our neighbors are nosy." He glanced at their driveway.

"Uh, no cars, Dan," he pointed out. I let out a breath.

"They usually always have someone home," I said, "They seriously creep me and mum out because of their intense lack of having their own business to attend to." I looked around, then whispered, "You go first. It's going to look less suspicious if they only see me trying to sneak in." I leaned over him and tried to push the windows up with my fingertips. It didn't work. "What an arse. It always works in the movies." Phil smacked his forehead again. "Well," I said, "I'll figure it out." I looked at the window. I noticed a small crack in the bottom where the window didn't close all the way. Our house was drafty, and the windows never closed all they way, which was also why most of them were never locked.

I hooked my fingernails under and it actually pulled up sort of easy. "Get in," I ordered to Phil. I looked toward our neighbor's house to see a face peering out. "And quick," I added, "I think they're peeking." Phil climbed through the window smoothly. I leaned in. "Have you been doing this for years or what?" I asked. He motioned for me to come in.

"Get in," he whisper-shouted, "I'll tell you later." I swung my right leg through the window carefully. I was not as experienced as Phil at climbing in windows, even in my own house. I was just about to put my left leg through when a high-pitched voice said,

"What are you doing?" I smacked my head on the window frame and fell the rest of the way into my house. Phil tried to sit up, but I put a hand on his chest and whispered,

"Stay down. Someone's out there." he looked like he wanted to say something but I put a finger to my lips as if saying shh. I peeked out over the top of the window. The person out there had to be tall because I could only see them from the chest down. They wore a white shirt with the word BITCH in big black letters and a flannel shirt over it. They wore a matching belt that was only hooked in one loop on their shredded blue jeans, and black combat boots similar to Phil's except they stopped just above the ankle. Their sleeves were pushed up to their shoulders, showing a few bracelets with names of bands like Mumford and Sons and Fall Out Boy on the left arm, and a few thousand LGBT+ related bracelets on the right arm. That arm had stuff that said things like Pansexual Pride and Equality: Nothing More, Nothing Less, and 50 other things I couldn't read in five seconds.

I slowly slid back down. "I don't know who they are, but they are a complete LGBT+ nerd," I whispered.

Phil's P.O.V

"I don't know who they are, but they are a complete LGBT+ nerd," Dan whispered.

"Great," I replied, "Maybe they won't fry us for not being in school. Or maybe they will anyway." Dan shook his head. "What?" I asked. I was beginning to think this was a trend or something.

"They can't do that, because they're not in school either," he said in a low voice, "I can't see their body, but they are young." We heard a knock. "The door!" he yelled. I smacked him in the back of the head.

"Not the door, you arse, the window." we both looked up to see a very pissed-off looking person glaring at us.

They looked quiet interesting. They had on black lipstick with cheek piercings off to the sides, and they had big thick-framed dork glasses. They had short, blonde hair, shaved on at least one side, a grey beanie obscuring the back and their other ear. From here I could see they had on gages just like mine, black hearts. 

I stood up and helped Dan up. I cleared my throat. "Ah, um, who are you?" I asked. Dan leaned against the side of the window, behind where they could see him.

"Candor," she replied, then asked, "Why are you in here?" she swiveled toward Dan and he gave a small awkward wave. "I can understand why you're in here, it's your house. What I don't understand is why you're sneaking into your own house or why you're bringing him with you," she finished.

"My mum keeps the house locked and I don't have a key," Dan said, "Also I hate my second period class and so does he." They nodded as if approving, and started to climb in the window.

"Whoa,whoa!" Dan exclaimed, "What're you doing? If someone finds two guys and a girl sneaking into my hou-" they cut off his sentence, jumping the rest of the way through the window to put their hands over his mouth.

"Never say that again," they backed away a few steps.

"Ah, never say what?" he was oblivious. They glared at him. "What?" he asked again. This was going south.

"Uh, Dan? Lgbt plus nerd, remember?" he looked at me, confused. He still didn't get it. "Don't say 'she!' " I finally dumbed it down. I turned to Candor. "What are your pronouns, Candor?" I asked politely.

"They/them/theirs," they replied smugly, "Thank you." 

Dan's P.O.V.

"They/them/theirs" Candor replied, "thank you." I was bombed.

I stood quickly, spluttering and apologizing. "Sorry, sorry, I'll call you by the right pronouns, I didn't mean-" Phil was the one to put his hand over my mouth this time. "Ah, okay. Let's just go to my room." I led them all upstairs and to the left. We walked in, and they both looked around. My room was absolutely plastered in Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance posters.

We sat on my bed. Candor started playing Fall Out Boy on their phone. "Now what do we do?" I asked. They shrugged.

"We could just sit and talk," Candor replied.

"About what?" Phil asked.

"Let's play 20 questions," I suggested. Phil and Candor groaned. I put my hands up. "The fun kind, not the original," I finished.

"There is no fun kind," Candor said.

"Ah, but there is. Its more fun if you ask real questions. You know, something whose answer actually says something about somebody, not 'what's your favorite color?'" Candor sat up.

"You go first," they said. I blew out a breath.

"What song best describes your life, and why?" I asked. Phil was first to reply.

"Break,  by Three Days Grace," he said, "It's about breaking away from mainstream society and changing your world if you don't like it." I smiled at him and he smiled back. He was so different, in a good way. "What about you, Candor?"

They thought and said, "Immortals,by Fall Out Boy, because I think it means we can feel immortal now but really, were running out of time so we need to be who we are now and not later." me and Phil stared at them. "And you?" they asked. I realized they were talking to me.

"20 Dollar Nose Bleed by Fall Out Boy. Not because I do drugs but more because of the tone, you know? Like 'I'm dying but please don't tell the doctor, and call me whatever you want.' You know?" Phil laughed and leaned on my shoulder.

"You say 'you know' a lot, you know?" We laughed, together this time.

"Are you guys dating?" Candor asked abruptly. 

Phil's P.O.V.

"Are you guys dating?" Candor asked suddenly. Dan looked at her, wide eyed.

"No," I said awkwardly.

"You seem like it," they said. Dan scooched away awkwardly behind me, and I couldn't see his face anymore. "and I think Dan has a crush on you." they pointed. I turned around to see his face was twenty times darker and redder than my hair. He stood up and leaned against the door of his room. "I have an idea, c'mere," they said and whispered in my ear. I nodded . I like the idea.

I stood and started walking toward Dan. He squished himself farther into the door. I stood very close to him while he tried to press back even farther into a door that wouldn't budge. He wasn't afraid, just awkward.

I could feel his body heat coming off him in waves. I closed the gap, putting my arms around him. He was only an inch taller than me, which meant our faces weren't too far off from each other. I leaned against him, putting my weight  half against his chest and half on my own feet.

I put my mouth against his ear and whispered, "Be my boyfriend? Go out with me? There's a dance coming up. Go with me?" he nodded, which was probably All he was capable of. I put my hand on his chest to push away. "Your heart's beating really fast," I commented.

He shrugged. "Call me Mr. Benzedrine."


	4. We Could Be Immortals

Dan's P.O.V

The dance was that Saturday. Candor wasn't going to be enrolled in school until the Tuesday after but was permitted to go by the school and their grandparents (we'd never seen Candor before because they just moved to England from America to live with their grandparents) so long as they didn't wear anything provocative. Ha.

Phil asked me to go on Monday so we had plenty of things to work out before then. I was going to wear a dress, and he was looking for a suit.

I noticed he made more physical contact with me after that, little things like touching my knee or shoulder and even the occasional peck on the cheek. We hadn't actually gotten up to kissing on the lips but I still loved it.

We also skipped second hour every day to hang out with Candor, while they kept their nosy grandparents at bay.

The dance couldn't come fast enough, but when I woke up and it was finally Saturday, it felt like there wasn't enough time. To get ready, buy a dress, put on makeup, buy Phil flowers.... and tell my mum about our date.

I walked down the stairs, gleefully screaming "I've got a date to the dance! His name is Phil! I'm goooooing!" mum nodded and smiled. I told her I was buying a new dress for the homecoming dance and left to go to a small shop a couple streets over that Candor had told me about.

I walked in, wearing loose fitting jeans and a T-shirt, ready to try something on already! I looked around a little, trying to find something modest since I never really pushed the dress wearing thing too far, when I realized that nothing modest here would be good enough for me this time. I'd payed my dues anyway, right?

I headed toward the back of the shop, where they had tighter fitting and more accentuated dresses. I was looking for something edgy. I picked up one dress that was supposed to fit tight and that was a little shorter than I'd usually go for, making sure to get one size smaller because it was meant for someone with curves and I was basically a stick. I also picked out one that had rips and another one that was a flared skirt with a tight top, ribbons and lace, all put together to where it actually looked very edgy.

I went to the counter and asked for a key to the dressing rooms after realizing they were locked. "Why?" the salesclerk asked, "You can't steal anything so don't try," she said in a flat voice.

I asked again. She had the same monotone answer. I sighed. "Listen," I said, "I just want to try on the stupid things and buy one, okay? So can I please have the freaking key?" She looked at me weirdly. "Don't give me that look," I said, "This is a progressive society, Get with the times." she dropped the key in my hands.

"Let me see you come out," she said. I nodded, telling her I was trying on the fitted one first. I wiggled into it and came out.

"Happy?" I asked. She smiled.

"Looks good, I guess," she said, "Try on the green one." I walked in, and slipped into it easily. The top was fitted and didn't bulge out. It was black and neon green, with a corset lace-up style back. I came out grinning.

"That's the one?" she asked. I nodded furiously. I took it off, paid for it, and went back home again. Candor was waiting for me when I got there.

"We're dying your hair," they affirmed in their American accent.

"What color?" I asked. They held up a box that said Midnight Black with a picture of a person with jet black hair. "Seriously?!?! Yes!" I sat down in the chair in the bathroom while they coated my hair with the sticky, smelly goo. We talked while we waited for the dye to set in. After 20 minutes they helped me wash out my hair and blow dry it.

I put on my dress, and Candor put on a red and black Harley Quinn suit. We both did our makeup. They helped me put it on black and green themed to match my dress. Candor put on matte blood red lipstick while I had on my signature black.

"We're ready!" I announced. Candor shook their head. "What? We've done everything." They pointed at my shoes.

"You're not wearing converse with a dress to your dance," they said, and reached over to dig in their bag, pulling out a pair of low heels. I groaned. "At least try them on," they said. I shoved them on my feet and stood. I fell flat on my face.

"Ow," I said into the carpet.

"Okay, maybe next time," Candor said gingerly. "The converse at least match your green and black  
outfit." I put my converse back on but noted that Candor put the high heels into my closet and not back into their bag. "Now we're ready," they said.

We headed downstairs and five minutes later Phil arrived to pick us up. I climbed in the front with him and Candor got in the back without even a word. They knew what was up.

The gym was decked out with lights and streamers, a photo shoot in the corner, a DJ up front and a punch and concessions stand off to the side. It didn't look like a gym anymore, more like a pg dance club, I thought.

We arrived on time, and in about fifteen minutes people filled the gym and the music started picking up. They played a couple of the old, cheesy songs that were practically mandatory for a high school dance, among other things. We all danced like psychos. They played more Fall Out Boy than usual this year because since they came out with their album American Beauty/American Psycho everyone likes them again.

We danced like crazy to those songs, and then the song that would change my life suddenly came on.

Immortals started playing.

And Phil didn't tell me he knew how to dance or that he requested that song to be played.

He dragged me out onto the dance floor and told me to follow his lead. We started off dancing slow but sped up quickly. He embodied the song. He spun me, pulling me into him, did some solo moves, came back, and flipped me head over heels into a front flip. It was aggressive and beautiful. He kept me close but far away when he saw fit, showing off the fact that we were a couple. I started to pick up his moves and did a solo in the middle of a quieter part of the song. We danced separately but at the same time for a couple seconds, then he spun me one last time and kissed me on the lips passionately at the exact time the last sung beat of the song played.

All of it left me breathless and stunned, stuck in my own little world until Phil whispered, "The crowd is awfully quiet." I looked around, still in his arms, to see that the whole occupancy of the gym was crowded around us, forming a circle which we stood in the middle of. And they were dead quiet.

Suddenly, someone started clapping and the whole crowd ended up screaming and whistling until the principal quieted them down by announcing it was time to crown the homecoming king and queen. He read the nominees and finally opened the envelope to announce a girl and a guy who I didn't know as the winners.

The crowd murmured collectively. "They're talking about you," Candor whispered, stepping up beside us, "Something about-"

"We are both stepping down to hand our crowns to another couple!" the girl who was the queen screamed into the microphone.

"We can't allow that," the vice principal leaned over and tried speak into the microphone. The girl yanked it away and gave it over to the guy, who took it and said,

"We're handing it over to the couple with the smooth dance moves, Daniel Howell and Phillip Lester," he finished. The principal stated again that that was not allowed.

Candor cupped their hands over their mouth and started chanting, "Let them be kings! Let them be kings!" and before we knew it the whole crowd reverberated with the sound of wild chanting. The crowd started to rush the stage, and the principal quickly grabbed the microphone and said that he was going to allow it this once.

We were pushed up and onto the stage and two crowns were placed onto each of our heads. We held hands while the other couple hopped offstage. I tried hard not to cry, because I didn't want my makeup to run.

Someone gave Phil the microphone, and he cleared his throat and started to speak. "I've really only known Dan for six days," he said, and the crowd cheered. "That's not long enough to be in love with him. This isn't a fairy tale," the crowd booed in response but he kept talking, "But I can safely safely say that in those six days I've experienced many moments that I'll never forget. This isn't a fairy tale, but I'm glad its my reality." he took a deep breath and turned to me. "It may not be possible to fall deeply in love with someone in six days, but it is very possible to start falling. And, Daniel Howell," he lifted my chin up with his fingertips, "I am starting to fall very hard for you." he kissed me very softly. It felt like I was on fire, with heat rising from my stomach to engulf my chest and wrap around my heart. Is this why they used to think we felt emotions in our heart? I thought. It was perfect.

We left soon after, and I dozed off with Immortals still playing softly in my head.

I am the sound in the bottom half of the hour glass...  
I try to picture me without you but I can't 'cus

we

could

be

immortals.


	5. Here's To My Favorite Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song mentioned: Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Thing To Do Today, by Fall Out Boy on album Take This To Your Grave.

Tom Evans P.O.V.

I clenched my fists tight. I'd heard the news. I heard it all right. He took all his shit and ran. At least that's what they said. But I knew what really happened. He ran with her. She took him and he left me behind.

He tricked me into falling in love with him, lead me on for nearly two years, broke up with me, and then left without explaining what the hell just happened. 

When I met him, we were both angry. He used that against me, telling me we weren't that different. When I insisted I wasn't gay, he said it didn't matter.

"I'm not gay either," he said, leaning close, "but you're an exception, and I hope I can be the same for you." and then he kissed me...

I ground my teeth, recalling the memory with vengeance. It was the first lie, that kiss. The first taste of the poison. 

I let my fists unclench as I took my new poison off the pantry shelf. It was a bottle of hard whiskey. I knew it could kill me but by this time I was too far in to stop now. Here's to my favorite liar, I thought, and I drank straight out of the bottle.

I thought about life. School, work, but most of all, Dan Howell. I beat him up a lot, but not because I hated him. I did it because if I didn't get to him first, show them all he's already got someone trying to injure him, someone worse might come by and finish the job.

He was too different for people to understand. Really, I didn't care if he wore a dress, or makeup, or had a boyfriend. In truth, it didn't matter. I didn't care.

But to protect him, I took care of hating him for everyone else. Even though I didn't want to. Even though I didn't hate him.

I hated everyone else.

But most of all, I hated myself.  
I hated myself for seeing me in his eyes.  
And I hated the fact that I wanted to wear a dress, just like him. Look just as feminine as he did. There was only one difference.

I knew I wasn't a boy.


	6. I'm Not Psychic Or Anything

A/N: This is a small chapter to Phil you in!

Phil's P.O.V

I woke up groggily, still in Dan's bedroom. After he fell asleep in the car I insisted we- or more like I - carry him to his bedroom. He was still in his dress when I lied him down gently. I felt bad about leaving him in his dance clothes.

"Candor, do you think his mum would undress him?" I asked. They shook their head.

"I'll do it. Just leave the room, go talk to his mom, or mum or whatever and I'll call you back in when he's dressed." They waved me off. I walked down the two flights of stairs to the living room. Dan's house was gigantic.

"Uh, Hi," I said. His mum was sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone just like the last time we were over here. She looked up, putting her phone down.

"Hello," she said. Her accent was slightly different than Dan's, a little stronger. "Is Dan okay?"

"Yeah," I replied, "The homecoming king and queen gave us their crowns after our big dance number." She smiled.

"What song?" She asked.

"Immortals," I said. 

"God, he loves that song. How did you know to pick it? He told you?" I shook my head. She leaned her head on her hands. "You have quiet the intuition then?" I shook my head again.

"It was just a guess, Mrs. Howell. Your son does seem to have a heck of an intuition though. Is he psychic or something?" She laughed out loud, throatily. 

"Call me Elaine. To answer your question, no, he's not psychic, but his dad taught him to watch people closely. He knows how to spot liars and fakes. He also knows how to spot the good apples." She pushed her brown hair away from her face.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked her carefully. I wasn't quite sure of what she was trying to tell me, or if that was just it.

"I can't tell you exactly," she said, "but the fact that he's kept you around for so long says something about you." Candor walked down the stairs then.

"Done," they announced simply. They yawned. "We've got to get to our own homes now, Phil." She stretched a little. I nodded to Elaine then stood. She gave a small wave and we exchanged good nights.

Me and Candor didn't say much on the way home. We were tired. I dropped them off and drove home, heading straight to my room after lying and saying that Candor was indeed my date and they were totally a girl. I fell asleep in my underwear after practically ripping off my clothes.

It felt good to finally sleep without nightmares.


	7. I Won't Tell... I Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING: TRIGGERS!!! SELF HARM TRIGGER, VIOLENCE TRIGGER! DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED!!!

A/N: TRIGGERS! READ WARNING ABOVE PLEASE!!! 

Tom Evans P.O.V.

I punched the blank wall before leaving, creating a hole the size of my clenched first. I had a lot of holes in my wall, to say the least. It's because I'm always angry. At my parents. At my shitty so called friends. At the world. But most of all, myself.

I woke up angrier than I'd ever been that morning. You could look at the holes in my wall and think I was angry at someone else. Actually, a lot of those were attempts at breaking my own hand. Or foot.

But it seemed like that wasn't good enough this morning, for some reason. I sat down on my bed and gave myself five minutes to talk myself out of it.

I lasted two.

I grabbed a razor off my supplies shelf, a brand new one. I did a lot of things like models and arts and crafts. I usually smashed them after.

I spread my left wrist out across my leg to steady it. I breathed slowly. I'd heard a lot of people do this. I heard it was addictive. It couldn't be any more addictive than the alcohol, though. Could it?

Lightly I brought the shiny metal blade across my arm. I hissed as it drew blood. I stared at it, mesmerized, as it dotted red in a jagged path.

It was horrible. It felt horrible. But it also felt good. It was impossible to think. I did it again. Impossible to remember. Again. Impossible to feel. Last time, then I sat the razor down on the bed. They were shallow cuts but bled like a bitch. I slapped band aids over them, put on a sweater, and left.

As soon as the pain faded, I was ready to punch something again. I watched as no other than Dan Howell walked in front of me, not noticing I was behind him. Maybe I did need to punch something... Or maybe someone. 

I quieted my steps, stalking him. Right now I did hate him. For being able to do things I couldn't. Wear his stupid dress, his stupid makeup, think about his stupid boyfriend, and go home to his stupid loving mum who actually gave a damn about him, believe it or not. 

I saw red as I walked behind him. We were slowly getting closer to a brick alley. We had a lot of alleys here. When we crossed it, I pounced on him. I made sure he couldn't see me. This time, I would pose a real threat to him. I would make him helpless. I would make him fear me, so help me god.

Dan's P.O.V.

I walked slowly, listening to no other than Fall Out Boy. I was just passing by a brick alley when I felt a pair of hands shove me from behind.

Roughly I was pushed against a wall. The hands were soft but the grip was tough and strong. One hand pinned my back and the other pinned my neck in place so I couldn't see who was holding me. I struggled, but whoever it was just shoved me against the wall harder.

I was trying not to panic. I had to get out of there somehow. I wasn't wearing a dress today, that was good. I tried to get my thoughts together. I didn't know who this was. I didn't know their weaknesses, so I just had to use anything at my disposal. They weren't pinning my hands or legs.

I flailed behind me, trying to get a grip. I felt their waist. They were tall, or at least had really long legs. I didn't know if I could outrun them, even if I am over six feet tall. They angled away from me.

"Stop moving," they said in a gruff voice. It was slightly familiar. I didn't stop. Now I was panicking. I kicked my legs and waved my arms. I could struggle away if I tried hard enough.

They took their hands off me for half a second. I turned to run but they grabbed me again and took me straight to the ground, face first. I still didn't know who it was. They lied on top of me and pinned me completely. There was no way out unless I could talk my way out.

"Please let me go." I begged.

"Why?" They asked. "What have you done for me?" It sounded like they were trying to conceal their voice. It was working. All traces of familiarity in the voice had left.

"Nothing. But I haven't done anything to you. I won't tell. I  
promise,"I lied. I was definitely going to report this.

"Liar," they said, "You're coming with me." They put their hand over my eyes and held me in a way where escape was just as impossible as on the ground. We sat down, them holding me with their legs, and they blindfolded me with what felt like a scarf. They s

It occurred to me I had to scream now. I opened my mouth and they clamped it closed for me and held it. "God. Can't have you screaming. I can't go to jail. Goddamn it!"

They turned me toward them. What were they going to do? I'm not sure what happened next but something hard hit me, and it all went black and cloudy.


	8. A Dark Alley and A Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song mentioned: I've Got A Dark Alley and A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth by Fall Out Boy, on album From Under The Cork Tree

Dan's P.O.V.

I woke up with a killer headache. It felt like my brains were taking up more space than usual, which I didn't take as a good sign. I couldn't see, either, which scared me because  I knew I was hit in the front of the head.

I felt around as much as I could. I grasped bricks and asphalt, which meant I was still in the alley. My head felt like it was swimming, and thinking was like trying to wade through mud. It took me five minutes to figure out I was still blindfolded, and five more to get it off.

I decided my first priority was to get someone to come help me, because I wasn't fit to get home on my own, and I needed medical attention. I fumbled in my pockets but my phone wasn't there. I looked around but came to the conclusion it wasn't in the alley. The motherfucker took my phone.

Which meant I had only two choices left: I had to either get home or get help from someone close by.

I figured sitting up might be a bad idea, so I flipped over onto my stomach and crawled around on the ground like I had lost my crutches. I pulled myself to the edge of the alley and used the corner of the wall to painfully prop myself up. It was not a fun process.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. What I was going to do next would be very painful in my sensitive state. I covered my ears and screamed for help like bloody murder. I could only scream for so long until I had to stop. I fell over onto my side, holding my head. I wanted to go to sleep but figured I probably had a concussion and so that would not be a safe idea.

I waited for forever but no one came. I didn't want to scream again so I waited for the pain to fade a little before standing up. My head rushed but I managed to stay upright. I held onto the wall for support and started struggling my way home. I kept hoping that I'd see someone that could help me, but everyone was either at school or work.

Eventually I started to get dizzy. A little bit ahead I saw a driveway with cars in it. It was my only choice, so I struggled over to the house and basically crawled up the driveway, barely managing to ring the doorbell on my knees. Glad I was tall.

A very surprised teenager answered the door. "Yeah, mum, I- what the fuck?!" she looked down on me with disdain, like I was playing a prank on her.

"Help," I said feebly.

"Go away, creep!" She sneered, "What do you think you're doing?"

I reached up to touch the top of my head, under my bangs, where it hurt most. My hand came away red and sticky. "I think I'm bleeding," I said. It felt completely unreal.

She dropped her phone instantly, and dropped to her knees. "Are you okay? Do you need to call someone? Should I call for you?" I nodded at the last two. She managed to get me inside her house and lay me on the floor. "I would put you on the couch, but your head needs support," she said. She asked me whose number she needed to call. I told her Phil's, knowing mum was at work.

She then called the paramedics. I don't remember a lot of it but they did normal paramedics stuff, told me I had a concussion (no duh) and sent me home with Phil. They insisted on calling mum and said they'd send an officer over later to ask me a few questions about the assault.

I hate that word. Assault. It makes it sound like you fought valiantly or something. Really, I didn't do anything. All I did was manage to survive a combination of a dark alley and someone else's bad idea.


	9. This Ain't a Scene It's a Chapter Title

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song mentioned: (by Fall Out Boy, of course) The Phoenix on album Save Rock and Roll

It took longer than I wanted to to get better. Phil skipped school nearly every day to be with me, which was almost suicide for his academic record but he didn't seem to care. He may look tough but he was really sweet. And really weird.

 

"I don't see why nobody else thinks giraffes are aliens," he was saying on the third day of his no-school streak. "They look so weird." I laughed, knowing more than thinking that he was a complete derp. "Come on," he continued, "You know it's true. It's like they tried to morph into a deformed horse and a leopard at the same time. Like ahlll what do I do," he made random choking noises and acted like he was having a seizure. He fell on the floor and lied there.

 

"What're you doing?" I mumbled. I mumble way too often and it's a pain in the arse.

 

"What?" Phil asked.

 

"What're you doing?" I said louder.

 

"WHAT." I sighed.

 

"Nevermind," I gave up on trying to speak coherently, "Aren't your parents worried about you?" I asked, changing the subject. He sighed, sounding winded and world-weary.

 

"I don't live with my parents," he said, "They didn't want me." I could tell this was a touchy subject by the way he gave off no emotion. Usually I could read him like a book. He was always joking and acting like a nutcase, except for those small moments when he looks sad. Or the hours he spent raging around my house screaming he's going to kill whoever  hurt me once he finds them.

 

Except I know that he's not the fighting type. He doesn't want to hurt anybody.

 

"What did you do?" I asked, but quickly realized that was the wrong way of wording it. I backtracked quickly. "I mean, did you do anything at all?" I reached down to play with his hair, which was fading to a pale shade of delicate pink.

 

"I was born," he replied, "Well, actually I was born gay, sorry," he corrected. I leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, waiting to see if he was going to say anything else. I didn't expect him to, but to my surprise, he did.

 

"It's not like I knew I was gay from the start. I didn't even know what the word gay meant. Heck, I didn't even know what being straight meant until I was a lot older. All I knew was that I didn't want to date a girl. For the most part, I didn't care about dating at all, until I was fourteen," he said carefully. He looked at me, as if wanting my approval. He looked a bit scared. I nodded, just barely. He turned to stare distantly out the window across the room.

 

"I went to this party. It was my first real party, where there's no parents or older siblings or anybody to tell you what to do," his tone of voice had changed from scared to more like awed, as if that was a good part of the story. I could tell it was. "I was kind of a new guy, and younger than a lot of the other kids, but they didn't mind much. I looked older than I was, and appearance was everything then so for all they cared I could've been ten years old." He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned on them.

 

"A group invited me into one of the bedrooms to play a game. It was loud downstairs, and our ears hurt, so we all trotted up the stairs and to the master bedroom on the far side." I nearly jumped out of my skin. It sounded like he was about to get hazed. "Calm down," he said, "It's fine. Anyway, we decided to play some stupid kissing game or something. There were more guys than girls, along with one kid who refused to tell their gender. I don't remember exactly how, but me and this other guy ended up being picked to kiss. He kept trying to back off but everyone else was like 'no, no, it's the rules, it's the rules' and he finally leaned over and pecked me on the lips. Everyone laughed, and he wiped his mouth like I had herpes or something, but I liked it. Even though he was a stranger." I smiled.

 

"So your first kiss was with a guy?" he nodded.

 

"Pretty much. It was actually quiet convenient. I didn't grow up and hate my first kiss because it was with a girl, like other gay guys." We both laughed, and he stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, obviously concentrating on what he was going to say next.

 

"Anyway," he continued, "After the game we all headed separate directions. The guy came back later, asking if I wanted to play another game." he looked at me with a creepy smile. "Alone,  if you know what I mean," he raised his eyebrows. I giggled.

 

"Of course, he didn't want anybody to think he thought this through and really wanted to do it, so he acted like he was drunk. He was a really terrible actor. I could totally tell it was just tea in his cup," Phil did a stupid impression of what I guess was the guy. He looked like he was having a seizure again. I laughed and waited for him to continue. "What?" he asked.

 

"Um, the story? Aren't you going to continue?" I replied.

 

"Yeah, right after you stop with that pedo smile, Dan," he accused, "All we did was kiss- and some major kissing that was, i'll tell you that much- until halfway through I told him I knew he wasn't drunk. He tried to run but I told him it was okay, and that we should date. He left anyway, but he came back," he winked and it looked like his face was spasming again. "We we dated for close to a year before we decided we'd grown too much apart. We wanted to still be friends, but some... stuff happened and we decided that'd be too much. Wish I could see him again, though," he added, and sighed. It was apparently a good time for him, but also sad because he couldn't have it back. At least that's what I thought. 

 

"What was his name?" I asked casually. Not that I wanted to track the guy down and ask him a million questions or anything. Which I would totally do.

 

"If I remember right, it was Damien Vakslave," he said. I nearly fell off the couch. I knew that last name. It was Russian!

 

Phil looked at me with a grin. "You okay?" I nodded. I leaned closer to him.

 

"Did you mean 'Vakislaav?'" I asked quietly. He shrugged.

 

"The last name was weird, and it was years ago," he said, "I can't even remember my name most mornings, let alone some Russian kid from a million years ago." I giggled.

 

"It wasn't a million years. You can't even live that long," I pointed out.

 

"I say you could. As soon as they make drones and are able to implant our souls in them," he proclaimed, holding up one finger like a psychotic dictator. When I turned away, thinking, he muttered, "May as well have been two million," but he didn't know I heard, and I wasn't quiet sure what that meant.

 

"Do you remember what he looked like?" I asked. He paused.

 

"He was Russian. Dark hair, dark eyes, big nose, big guy in general. I mean, he wasn't the hulk, but he was of size. And I told you to stop smiling like a pedo," I shook my head furiously.

"That's not it," I flew off the couch, wincing as I hit my arm on the corner of the wall, heading to the phone. Phil was close behind me.

"Dan, stop. You're gonna hurt yourself. Lay back down," I was still shaking my head as he trailed me across the room.

I yanked the phone off its cradle, first dialing Candor, having a 30-second conversation, hanging up, calling two more people with slightly longer conversations, and then hanging up  again, this time with the feeling of a madman.

"Are you okay?..." Phil was confused. He was confused a lot sometimes. I turned to him, still grinning like a homicidal maniac. "Um?" he said, "Dan?"

"One thing you don't know, Phillip, I have a few connections. And I have found your walking memory." Phil looked confused and scared, more for me than himself.

"Have you lost it, Dan?" he asked curiously.

"It's not what I have lost, but what I've found," I replied.

"What is it?" he was still clueless.

"Not what. Who. I have found your lost friend. I have found Damien Vakislaav." I replied jauntily.

I was so happy at finding this kid, thinking it would make Phil happy. I should have realized that one good memory doesn't equal friendship. I had once been friends with the kid who beat the shit out of me, even if I didn't know it. Look where he is now. I should have already learned this lesson:

You forget the people.  
You remember the good times, you forget the bad times.  
Until people come back, bringing with them things you forced yourself to forget. Whether they meant to or not.

If I had caught one look at Phil's face, even one in my glory, I would have seen.

No matter how innocent Damien was, he was a walking memory.  
Forgotten long ago, like a body under the soil, someone unlucky enough to die in the war.

So put on your war paint.

'Cus our time is running out.


	10. Wish I Was Invisible

They finally allowed me back to school the next Tuesday after I "found" Damien Vakislaav. Me, mum and Phil had come to an agreement that Phil would walk with me to school every day. Turns out his house is exactly two streets over from ours. He knew the people behind us, and he was just going to jump both fences to get to our house every  day and meet me at the door.

 

I decided to wear something special on my day back, though I was sad it couldn't be a dress because of all the bruises. The ones that weren't on my face, that is.  Instead I wore dark red skinny jeans with a black button-up and a matching dark red Fall Out Boy themed bow tie I had found on E Bay. I colored my still jet black hair with streaks of temporary red hair dye. I forgot about eyeliner. My face was too tender to touch, and I didn't want to mess with it.

 

I slung my school bag over my shoulder, leaning against the front door until I heard the doorbell ring, and swung it open to see Phil waiting for me on the front porch. He was also wearing band stuff, a faded Muse t-shirt and baggy blue jeans.

 

"You like Muse?" I asked dumbly. He shrugged. I waved goodbye to my mum and we tromped off on our way to school. We made jokes most of the way there, having ridiculous conversations while he did more bad imitations of giraffes and drone soul-implants.

 

I felt a lot safer with him there, although still paranoid. I kept having flashbacks, which I'd never had before. It's like for a second, the memory is superimposed over reality, and then you're there. Then the next second it's gone, reality is returned, or is replaced by another memory. Distant but so close.

 

With all the flashbacks in the way, I wasn't sure how much conversation actually happened. I don't care so much about that, as I do the fact that Phil didn't notice my temporary torture. I guess he had his own things to think about...

 

Phil's P.O.V.

 

Dan was having flashbacks, I was sure of it. I wanted to help him, I really did, but I was busy in my own memories. Eastwood has haunted me from the very day I set eyes on the sprawling campus.

 

I remember the feeling of seeing those pristine gates opening. They were so well taken care of, they couldn't have so much as squeaked, but I swear those doors creaked as if the gates of Hell were welcoming me to my new, tortured existence. My father didn't so much as get out of the car, but as the gates closed behind my slim form, and I looked back, I realized one thing: he never gave a damn about me. There was nothing in those eyes, not sadness, disappointment, not even anger. I wasn't even worth enough to be angry at.

 

That, more than anything that happened while I was there, was the worst part.

 

From the night of the party, when I found Damien, I knew I was gay. I also found out that Damien was gay. It was the start of my inevitable screw-up. I wasn't sure why I thought me and Damien would last- why did I think we wouldn't get caught?- but I don't regret being with him. He made me feel substantial. I always felt, my whole life, that I was invisible. Nobody cared. I was quiet.

 

Although he made me feel real, so many other people still made me feel like I didn't exist. My parents were especially cold. I was barely a shadow on the wall to them. I wish they would have at least been angry, but all I got was apathy, cold and sterile. Even when they found out about Damien, they weren't angry. It was just an excuse to get rid of me.

 

I had only one thought as I stepped through those gates:

 

"Wish 

that 

I 

was 

as

invisible

as

you

make

me

feel."


	11. Collar Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song mentioned: Collar Full by Panic! At the Disco. Off album Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die!

Candor's P.O.V.

I woke up this morning not particularly pleased. It was my birthday. Which would be fine under other circumstances, if not for the fact that I now lived with two overly religious old kooks. Two kooks who had problems with my less-than-girly style of dress, who were also, in fact, in charge of my birthday. And presents.

It was a school day, I was at least grateful for that. My phone sounded at 6:15 sharp, playing Collar Full by Panic! At the Disco. I listened to it play as I pulled my binder over my shoulders, adjusting my chest underneath it. The binder wasn't great for my chest, but it flattened me like a pancake, which I guess makes me a lucky one.

I decided to skip over wearing a birthday themed shirt and pulled on a dark muscle shirt and light shorts. I shoved on my converse, which I had painted with the agender flag. I adjusted my angel bites, smoothed my white-blonde hair, said fuck makeup, and rushed out to my car.

I finally got it started, after it turned over a few times, and squealed out of the driveway. I drove west, speeding, headed towards Dan's house. Not too far from the school, I saw him walking with Phil. I stopped next to them, bumping up over the curb and rolling the tinted window down like a mob boss.

"Get in, we're going to the gas station, we're going to chug Monster, and we're going back to school like maniacs," they piled in but weren't as enthusiastic as I had imagined they would be. 

They were only slightly more enthused when we pulled into the QuikTrip parking lot. Dan was seemingly okay, even a little excited, but Phil just wandered around, lost.

When Phil had wandered away for the third time, I pulled Dan close to my side. "What?" he asked, a pink Monster Rehab already in his hand.

"What is up with Phil?" I hissed. He shrugged. I smacked my forehead.

"How should I know?" he asked, irritated. I shook my head.

"You're the psychic here. You're the people reader, and he's your best friend, your boyfriend. So you're telling me you don't know what he's feeling?" he glanced away, toward Phil, who was meandering back our way. He stared at him, holding his breath. Analyzing. Reading. Whatever.

Dan let the breath he was holding out with a sigh. "No," he said, obviously shocked.

"So... what does that mean?" I asked. He shook his head, still confused and obviously concerned. I took a hint and said, "That means something's really wrong, doesn't it?" he did nothing but shrug. Even he didn't know what was up, and that was a surprise. I told him so, but he just laughed. "What are you talking about? I don't know anything about anything." his eyes still lingered on Phil, and the hint of confusion still in his eyes was concerning, to say the least.

"You know a lot more than you think," I said in a low voice, "You've even taught me a few things about life. Typically, I thought it would be the other way around. But look at you, Dan. Nothing about you is typical." he looked at me, smiled.

I didn't know what else to say. He and Phil were something special, though. They've got chemistry.

A collar full, in fact.


	12. What Does 'Party' Even Mean?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: Damien is Russian. I will try to work Russian culture in, such as slang or bits of Russian language- however, I know nothing about Russia. Feel free to tell me if I'm wrong, but don't be rude about it. I warned you) ~Ashton

Damien Vakislaav's P.O.V.

"Absolutely," she'd said, emphasizing every syllable, like she relished the thought that I finally wanted to get rid of 'that annoying accent' as she'd always called it. Sometimes I wasn't so sure why I was even her friend. Sure, I've known her since I six, and sure, she practically taught me English all by herself, but she still saw me as the foreign kid. A science project, even nearly eleven years later.

Sometimes I wish we had stayed in Russia. I would be less of a freak. I don't really remember Russia from when I lived there, since I was still just a kid,but I had memories of the many times we'd visited since we came to live in North America. It doesn't really bother me, though. Russia is freezing and snow-filled at worst, and dreary but still cold at best. The food and language are familiar, but that's as far as the benefits go.

I think she's going to have a hard time getting rid of my voice. I know she'll try all kinds of different methods and see which one works the best, like a mad scientist, like the intelligent person she is. She's an experimental scientist at heart.

"Let's start now," she interrupts my thoughts, with an excited edge in her voice that complimented the sound of her intellectual satisfaction. 

I read a lot of dictionaries.

"What are we going to do about my parents?" I ask. She looks at me, wide eyed. She shrugs.

"You'll have to tell them you're done with your accent," she replied. My parents were very paranoid about me being turned into a British-style teen zadrota (that means idiot in English), so they were unnecessarily and sometimes outrageously strict about it. 

I'm required to speak Russian to anyone else who speaks Russian, which is mostly family, and keep my accent if I have to speak English. I'm also required to dress Russian, which mostly includes me trying to satisfy my parents and somehow look normal at the same time. It would at least be sort of okay if my parents didn't still think EVERYTHING had to be formal. On top of being complete Russian hard asses, they are also old school.

My life sucks.

At least I have nice clothes.

I sighed. "Well, let's do it tomorrow. I'm too tired right now, and my parents will be home soon. If they hear me speaking without my accent, they will kill me. Wait, what accent will I be speaking in?" she stared at me stupidly. The thing about Helena is while she's so smart, she forgets the details. I sighed again and let it go 

 

She flipped her hair off her shoulders exaggeratedly. "We should do it today," she whined. 

 

I smoothed down a piece of my hair unnecessarily. I'd picked up a few beauty habits from my strict environment. "Well, my parents are leaving for vacation tonight, so we'll have plenty of time tomorrow," I was hoping she wouldn't catch the notion of parental unit absence, but was sadly let down.

 

See, Helena was not only an experimental scientist, she was a complete party animal, and she could be really fun sometimes. Narcissistic and obnoxious, but fun. She waggled her fingers at me.

"We're throwing a party, aren't we?" I asked condescendingly. I hadn't been to many parties, let alone hosted one.

She responded with a devilish smile. "We'll need flashing lights and a big stereo," she said, "Oh, and CD's or like an electronic playlist." she counted off each on her fingers, then nodded.

"All done. We're rich, remember? Also, does there have to be alcohol? Because I can't steal that much alcohol from my parents," I added She shook her head. I was relieved.

"Someone will probably end up bringing some," She casually amended. I almost had a heart attack.

She laughed. "It'll be fine, Damien. Just hide all the breakable stuff. Since practically everything you guys own is wood you'll be golden. Oh, but don't forget to hide your parent's booze. The drunk people will drink it if it contains even one ounce of alcohol." I looked at her, shocked. She shoved my shoulder.

Yay. 

We were throwing a freaking party.


	13. Consequences [Part One]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song referenced: Not sure if you caught it but Hell Above by Pierce the Veil was mentioned.
> 
> TRIGGER: Transgender dysphoria, slight internalized transphobia.

Candor P.O.V.

I wasn't sure how I had done it but I did.

I managed to twist some kid's words and get us invited to a random party at some foreign guy's house for reasons I didn't quiet understand. I didn't even know the name of the kid whose house it was, or even the girl I managed to guilt trip into getting us on the list.

We were driving down some back road (Both Phil and Dan had insisted that I not drive on the highway; it was raining and they claimed they weren't 'ready to die') with dense woods on either side that vaguely reminded me of butcher movie scenes. They were in the backseat, holding each other and screeching at me to slow down.

"Chill, we're only going eighty-five," I said casually. They continued to hold onto each other- as far as their seat belts would allow, anyway- for the duration of the ride. I parked on the street, Dan and Phil lurching out of the car as quickly as possible. Phil hit his head on the top of the car.

"Why do these things always happen to me?" he said, rubbing his head over his newly colored hair. It was a dark bluish black, and it suited him much better than pink. We slumped through the rain, half running, to the door. The girl I had talked to earlier let us in, her smile surprisingly akin to a shark's 

There were already a lot of people there, roaming around with red cups and what looked like cookies. Music pulsed through the floor while colored lights strobed along. It was going to be a sick party.

Dan looked at me nervously, biting his lip. I had told him his attacker could very well be here, they were probably from our school, but he promised he would be careful. He didn't want to hide. Even if he was awkward as Hell and got the piss scared out of him too easily.

The party was kicking off pretty well, although we just sat in a corner eating food and talking to a pretty girl named Chris. She was a ballet dancer, and very good at it. She was proud to be the only girl in the class not on a diet- she was pretty heavy- who had the guts to keep dancing.

"I have to order a uniform special. Can you believe it? It's different from the other girl's since they don't usually carry my size," While I listened I took the time to actually look at her. She had curvy hips and a round face. Her eyes were a turquoise color, and she had brownish hair.

She was hot, but more than that, her confidence was intoxicating. I made a note to get her phone number later...

A head of blonde hair breaking through the crowd caught my attention. They were turning, asking people something, then turning away in obvious disappointment at people's responses. They made our way over to us, leaning down to whisper between me and Chris's ears 

"Either of you want to play spin the bottle upstairs?" I groaned mentally. Cheesy. I looked at Chris and raised my eyebrows. She gave me a devilish grin. We nodded mischievously. What in the fuck was I getting myself into?

He turned to Dan and Phil, who were laughing and eating Chex mix, falling over each other and holding their stomachs at whatever new antics they were engaging in, both of them squished into a chair meant for only one person. "What about you guys?" Dan looked up confused and surprised. Phil just looked confused. "Play spin the bottle? Upstairs?" the blonde clarified.

Instantly they both burst into laughter, Dan nearly spitting out his Chex mix, Phil dumping what he had in his hand on Dan's head.

They hadn't even drank anything yet.

"They're already dating," I explained, giggling.

"Really? Who are the lucky ladies?" the poor kid had to ask the exact wrong question. Phil and Dan looked at each other with straight faces for at least three seconds, then completely lost it. Dan fell off the chair, taking Phil with him, who landed on his stomach across Dan's back.

"...each other. They're dating each other," I said, still laughing. The kid looked like he had was hit by a truck, blushing at his own foolishness.

"Oh," was all he said before me and Chris and I followed him toward the group of other players, waving at Dan and Phil as we disappeared up the stairs.

 

Damien's P.O.V.

I watched as a group of giggling kids disappeared up the steps behind me. Their mostly young faces (the faces of kids, practically, except for a few) and whispers of a legendarily taboo party game brought a twisted half-grin to my face. Memories came back to me- a time of newness and indefinite shyness- and I swirled my drink in my cup. I didn't know what was in it, but whatever it was, was probably alcoholic.

I stayed away from alcohol, which sucked at parties, because every one else was always shit faced. I watched with little interest at some of the couples eating each other's faces at the edges of the rooms. My eyes didn't yet hurt from the strobe lights, but I was almost ready to take an aspirin anyway. I rolled my eyes at a pair that was practically dry humping each other on the wall in the corner. Superficial, overly horny teenagers.

While trying to find something even slightly more interesting to look at, I was surprised to find that one corner of the room was oddly more quiet- though still loud and chaotic- than the rest. Or maybe it was just less fake than the rest. Either way, it made me smile, seeing two boys obviously proud to be dating each other, instead of just wanting each other for the status quo, being the reason. They were squished into a chair meant for one. Even though both were skinny, they only had room to sit hip to hip, enjoying close proximity without being on top of each other. 

I was currently staring at the brown haired boy, whose hair was dyed black but obviously growing out, and I wondered if it was because he was too preoccupied with his boyfriend to either notice or care. He was laughing so hard he was choking on what I guessed was one of the party snack mixes I insisted on putting out. Helena had wanted to put out sandwiches. "They need real food," she'd whined, but I also mentioned the image of someone vomiting salami sandwich all over the carpet and she relented.

When I looked back at him, he was smirking, the left side of his mouth tilted up in a devilish smile. He was giving complete heart eyes to the other boy, which made me smile, because it all looked so familiar, somehow.

I squinted my eyes. Somehow... this felt like deja vu. I pushed off the wall, my heart beginning to beat faster. I was overreacting. I struggled through the crowd, the feel of clothes chafing my bare arms unsettling me, and the smell of other people's sweat making me wrinkle my nose. All I could see wwee random body parts off random people as I spun in circles. Arms, legs, stomachs, I got shoved around so violently I had no time to place who they belonged to. 

Finally I got through the crowd, managing to spill only half of my drink all over my chest and lap. It was warm and it felt like I pissed myself. I reeked like a mini bar, even though I hadn't taken one sip. This party was a horrible idea. 

When finally I broke through the crowd, shuffling into that small right corner of the room, for about a solid minute no one even knew I was there. Until I looked up, and realized my mistake of using a glass cup, even if it was my right in my house. A mixture of my sweaty palms and startled panic left behind an ear-shattering sound, glass shards multiplying on the floor, and me backing away, looking for any way out possible.

I latched onto the first person I saw, nodding yes at whatever would get me away from here the fastest. He wouldn't follow me if I was with him, I was sure, although I didn't really know him anymore, so I couldn't even trust my own judgement. I definitely couldn't ask brown-and-black- hair boy. 

I stumbled away with a certain rough-handed bully pushing me forward. 

 

Candor's P.O.V.

We sat cross legged in a rough circle on the pristine carpet. It was more like an oval than a circle, but I had to guess that half of these kids hadn't even taken Geometry yet, not that it mattered much. They may have been young, but none of us were more than four years apart. It's the glory of high school parties.

It was just as it was my turn that a loud crash sounded from just outside the door-as if someone had fallen against it with more than a little force. Another kid from the party stumbled in, his face shrouded by the thick black hair that hung to his shoulders like a curtain.

He tried and failed to get his bearings, leaning against the doorway so as to not fall over. For the first time he looked up to see if anybody was actually occupying the room. His blue eyes were wide and unfocused. We all sat, staring back at him, feeling as astonished as he looked. His face was wild, scared, and he slammed the door a little too hard as he fell back out into the hallway.

We sat in stunned silence for a few minutes. It's not that the boy- person, I corrected, not yet boy- had been overly loud, or violent, it was just all very unusual. There was seemingly no rhyme or reason as to why this kid had reacted the way he did.

"That was-that was Damien," someone from close by mumbled into the silence. Everyone turned to look, including me, at the speaker. "The guy who threw the party," they continued shyly, "This is his house. I kind of know him-a little bit. He doesn't usually act like that, I don't think," the unsure monologue drifted off.

I shrugged. "He's probably drunk," I said, "And besides, do any of us know him well enough to go after him?" I was answered by a chorus of shaking heads. We turned around, and went back to our game.

 

Damien's P.O.V.

I didn't like the way he had his hand on my back. He was too rough, pushing me hard enough to make me stumble at points. I didn't like it at all, following this delinquent's directions, not even knowing where I was going or what he was planning to do. It was better than seeing Phil, though. Phillip and I had good memories sure, but that was only part of the story...

We stopped at the garage door, him motioning for me to open it. I did, stepping down the stairs that made up for the drop between the hall floor and the hard concrete of the garage. I turned around to see him locking it. I backed away slowly, starting to become suspicious. By the time he turned around I was standing halfway on the other side of the garage, leaning against my mom's favorite expensive car. It was one of many, this garage being absolutely gigantic to accompany my mother's dense collection.

He looked at me curiously. He gave a grin, almost like a shark. "I don't bite," he said, with the same amusement in his voice that a lion has hunting a gazelle, while walking in my general direction. His smile faded as he started to rummage in the bag slung over his shoulder. I hadn't noticed it before. I looked for exits as he strugglef to find whatever he was looking for. I came to the conclusion that the only ways to get out were the way we came-the path that he was currently blocking, by the way- and the garage door itself, which I would have had to open with the button on the far side of the garage.

I snapped my head back around to look at him, following the sound of repeated clicking. It was too dark to see what he was doing anymore, clouds obscuring the little light the moon gave us. Suddenly, there was a flash and before I knew it he was holding a small flame in front of my face.

A lighter.

 

Tom Evan's P.O.V.

I held the lighter in front of his face, having finally got it to click to life. He looked surprised at first, then his face flashed through emotions, looking confused until realization lit up his face, then fear, then confusion again.

He was going to back out. I bit my lip, holding back curse words. It wasn't time to panic yet; he hadn't actually said no, after all. I pulled out a small blanket, spreading it out over the floor and sitting down haphazardly, patting the spot next to me gently. He sat down, somewhat dubiously. I understood why. With my reputation, the way I had treated him in the house, he was probably scared and for good reason.

He looked at me, still confused. I was sure he'd had a vague idea of what we were doing, until I put down the blanket, which probably confused him more than anything. I was trying to put myself in his place. I didn't want him to run away.

I took a deep breath, feeling around in my bag again. My fingers closed around a small box, then, knowing he couldn't see me in the dark, I placed it in his hands. It took him a second to realize what I was doing, and I had to physically close his fingers around it before he got the idea. I felt around for the lighter again, my hands groping the blanket in search of our only light source. Finally, I found it.

It lit much easier this time, and I held it out so he could see the box he was holding. He stared at me, and I fought the urge to look away, knowing in his mind that I was a boy, and nothing else. He didn't know me. He couldn't hear my thoughts, screaming every time some one said he, feeling sick looking in the mirror. My head threatening to explode every moment of the day. He didn't know these things.

No one did.

I nodded at the box. "Open it," I whispered, just barely. I wasn't even sure it was loud enough for him to hear, if he just read my lips, but either way he got the message. He pulled open the lid, and I handed him the lighter to get a better look. For the longest time, he just did that. Looked. At least it felt like a long time. It was probably only seconds at the most.

When he looked up, it was more out of fascination than fear. I raised my eyebrows, and he handed the box back. He held onto the lighter, though, the small flame illuminating his blue eyes. Much prettier than my brown ones. "This is what we're doing?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Are you going to back out?" I whispered back. I wasn't sure why we were being quiet, the party was loud enough to cover even the loudest noise. Maybe we refused to disrupt the still quiet of the garage. Maybe it just felt right. Maybe we're both insane.

I know I am.

He hesitated for a moment, considering, as if weighing the options. He shook his head no, silently. He hesitated again, then said, "I've never done anything like this," flatly, like a confession.

"It's fine, it's not difficult or anything," we both shuffled around uncomfortably. He was looking at me again, eyes burning into my soul. 

"One more question," he said. I raised my eyebrows again. "What exactly is it?" I looked at him sideways. This was unexpected.

"What do you mean what is- were you raised under a rock?" I asked, shocked. Who was this kid, anyway? Was he joking?

But no, he was still looking at me expectantly. "It's weed," I said bluntly, "Jesus, boy, do you live under a rock?" I asked, wincing slightly in the dark. That sounded a bit too feminine. Calling him a boy like he was one and I wasn't...

Nobody but me cared, apparently. "Okay," he said, "Let's do this." I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. He'd turned the lighter off a few seconds ago, which left us talking in the heavy darkness.

I reached for the lighter again, having to grab for his hand to find it without my vision. I held the pipe to my lips, looking to make sure he was watching, then flicked the lighter and held it over the top. I inhaled, then let go, exhaling a few moments after handing it to him.

He fumbled around, looking unsteady and embarassed. I should've known this cookie cutter looking kid couldn't handle it. "Have you never been to a party in your life?" I asked with a laugh in my voice.

"This is my party," he grumbled, still trying to figure out the pipe. I sighed, scooting up next to him. He let the flame go out, and we were again met by the heavy darkness. I reached for him but I was going to have a hard time helping him in this position.

I rearranged, scooting up behind him with my legs on either side. I reached around him for his hands and flicked the lighter. As soon as the light turned on I saw he was looking at me over his back. "What- what are you doing?" he asked, and I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was pressed up against him in a dark room, trying to get him high, and he was openly gay.

I swallowed. "You're not doing it right," I said quickly, but as I reached around him to guide his hands I couldn't deny that I liked the feel of his back on my chest.

I ended up having to hold the pipe for him, instead of with him like I'd planned. He inhaled too much, sputtering and coughing like I knew he would, shuddering back against my chest. A lack of judgment told me it would be a good idea to wrap my arms around him.

He looked up at me, surprised, but I just sat there, refusing to let go. I pulled my arms from around him, letting his back rest on my legs while I took another hit. I held the pipe for him again on his next.

It went on like this for awhile, him soon being able to inhale without coughing, and eventually I reached over him to grab my bag. I was very high and all judgement went out the window as I pressed my stomach against his more than was necessary while reaching for my bag. I shoved everything inside it and sat there, him still in my lap.

 

Damien's P.O.V.

I layed across his lap, staring up at him. I was sure he was trying to make a move on me, but what I wasn't sure of was whether or not that conclusion was the drugs or me talking.

I wasn't sure how I ended up here. No, that's a lie, I know EXACTLY how I ended up here. First, I played chicken shit and ran from Phil. 

Why did I run from Phil? I mean he's a perfectly nice guy and all-

No, no, focus.

My thoughts were like jelly, except not hard to wade through so much as hard to muster up the motivation. Because who was I kidding? Thinking was for chumps.

I laughed a little, out loud. His attention shifted from into the distance to my face. I smiled at him goofily. His smile faltered.

"What are you doing?" he poked at me playfully. I liked him very much at that moment 

"I'm thinking," I said. 

"Thinking?" he repeated, "I think you need to get off my legs, they're going numb," he murmered. He pressed his hands behind my back to help me up. "What are you thinking about?" he asked.

I hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Just about how I like you," I said, voice slightly slurred. Slurred. Slightly happy.

He gave me a grin. Through the fuzzy but pleasant haze of my mind, actions came with little to no consequences. I guess that's why I did what I did next.

I was mid way through getting up, knees supporting my weight on the ground. He was still sitting, now cross legged, on the blanket beneath us. Distantly I noted the pain of my weight pressing my knees into the hard concrete. Pain was almost completely absent in this state. Peculiar.

He let go of me a few seconds after I'd made it off my butt. It's not that I couldn't move, get up myself, but honestly I enjoyed his help. His hands were surprisingly gentle.

It was as I was thinking about this- in those few moments of time- I made a split second decision.

I shuffled forward, scooting across the few inches of the limited between us. He was tall, way taller than I am, and my face came almost level to his. I stood as still as I could, trying not to wobble, my chest brushing his.

I could feel the heat of his body mixing with mine, becoming aware for the first time that this must be the reason warmth is so comforting. Being face to face, it was impossible not to look at each other. Time hung suspended in the heavy air. We were so close, even in the dark, I could see the glint in his eyes.

"What color are your eyes?" I spoke low and quiet, like it was our little secret. He was slow with his answer.

"Brown," he breathed against my mouth, our lips barely a centimeter apart. We were sharing air, breathing the same oxygen, and as his breath fluttered against my lips it was all I could do to keep my heart from beating out of my chest.

Without thinking, I pressed my lips to his. I could feel his response, unsurprised, leaning into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned my chest into his, feeling his heart pounding off time from mine. 

It went on like that for what seemed an eternity, but most likely wasn't. Reality kept switching on and off, time skipping like an old record to the music of high school boy's kisses.

Suddenly, he was pulling away, jerking his lips away from mine. He still held me in his arms. 

"What's wrong?" I murmured. 

 

Tom Evan's P.O.V.

I knew he was still looking at me, wondering what had went wrong. He didn't know the half of it. Kissing him had been amazing, due in part to my muddled mind.

During the kiss, through the excitement and the drugs, I'd started believing I was a girl, imagining curves pressing up against his square frame. That's when it hit me, hard, that I was kissing a gay boy. And who do gay boys like? Other boys. Suddenly it was making me sick, kissing a boy who saw me as a boy.

But, fuck, I couldn't tell him that.

"I'm not gay," I whispered, but it was weak, transparent. Absolutely pitiful.

"Straight people don't kiss other boys like that," he whispered back, tucking his head into my shoulders. I buried my face in his hair, glad for it being long. 

His words hit me like recoil, a gun I knew I had loaded by making such a pitiful comment. My eyes burned, tearing up, my chest starting to shudder slightly.

I was always so angry. Trying to drink away my problems, smoke my worries, and recently, cut away my pain. I know it's twisted, but I wanted someone to share it with. This thing- this problem I have- being born... Wrong, it crushes me.

Suddenly I was sobbing into Damien's shoulder, grabbing at his back desperately. In that moment, I made a decision. It would either kill me or save me.

No in between.

I sucked in a breath. I was going to tell the biggest secret of my life.

I close my eyes and take a breath real slow...


	14. Consequences [Part Two]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> Transphobia warning (slurs)  
> Suicidal thoughts (Mild)  
> Suicide attempt

Damien's P.O.V.

I was surprised to find his tears all over my shirt. I thought he'd just dumped his drink on me, until I remembered that he didn't even have a drink. I tried to pull back, but he held me like a vise, clawing at my back through my thin t-shirt. It fucking hurt, too.

I kept trying to push him off me, until I realized he had been mumbling something in between sobs. I tried to lean in closer, to hear him, but his words were too distorted from talking into my shoulder. "I can't hear you," I said. He sat up, wiping his eyes.

He took a breath.

Then the secrets started spilling.

Tom Evans P.O.V.

I could say I hadn't meant to tell him so much. But who am I kidding? I wanted to tell him everything from the start. I wanted to tell anyone anything, actually. I just never had the courage. Although I  wasn't so sure it was really all that courageous now, spilling my guts to some Russian kid in his dark garage. It felt like throwing up blood.

When I was done vomiting all my secrets, I sat on the cold concrete, on the far corner of the blanket still spread out on the floor. I didn't even want him to look at me. I wanted out of the garage, so I scrambled to get up, failing and almost falling because I was shaking so badly.

"Hey," he said, and I turned around. He tried to kiss me again, but I shoved him away. No way I was kissing him, now that he knew I was a girl, and still didn't understand, because nobody did. I got up, and he grabbed my leg again. "Wait!" he said. I shook him off. "It's fine, don't go-"

"Leave me alone," I hiss, "You like me as a boy, and for that, I'll always hate you," I said it in the most hurtful way I could muster. When I saw his face fall, I felt sick, but also satisfied. I hoped he could keep his mouth shut. I walked quickly away from him but he was persistent. He followed me.

Stepping in front of me, blocking my path, he spread his arms out (like that would even help) and said, "No, you're not leaving." My anger spiked. Who did he think he was? Just because he knows my secrets doesn't mean he owns me.

"Move," I growled, but he shook his head. "Fine, have it your way," I said, reaching around him to unlock the door and shoving him out of it. He fell halfway down the hallway, catching a half-open door and falling into it. I took the opportunity to escape.

I walked as quickly as possible down the stairs without drawing more attention to myself than usual. I had to get out of there before something more happened.

I heard the door slam upstairs. Then, a few seconds later, reopen. I stopped for a moment, confused, then shook myself and remembered that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. I just needed away from that house, and as far away from him as possible.

As far away from the world as possible.

I was almost halfway down the stairs, frantically tripping over my feet, definitely panicking, when I heard some one calling my name. I thought it was Damien, but when they called out again I knew it wasn't him.

It was out of place. Was that... An American accent? Confused, I turned for a quick glance. At the top of the stairs,  looking like a punk princess (prince? I could never be sure. How would I know they weren't a boy? Opposite like me?) was a person I did not know.

They cocked their hip, puckering their black lips.  Shiny metal gleamed from the holes in their cheeks and above their mouth. I turned around, forcing my eyes away, but in a flash they were down the stairs and had me by the back of the collar.

"Where are you going?" they asked, leaning over to talk in my ear. I struggled slightly, but they tightened their grip on me. "Best not to make a scene, right? Damien boy here told me to keep it quiet," my anger flared at the comment, and I looked around to see that no one was even paying attention.

No one, that is, except for Dan and Phil. They say watching, eyes more on the captor at my back than at the poor girl in front.

"He told you," I growled, tempted to scream, but holding it in. Feeling like a bomb about to explode. Chest tightening like a vice, compression suffocating, I struggled to breath.

They shook their head. "All he told me was that this is urgent, and we need to talk." They nodded affirmatively. They started pushing me forward slightly, but I refused, feet sleeping on the polished wood.

"Where are we going?" I wheezed heavily through my panic.

They nodded at Damien again. He sighed. "If you don't do it, I'll tell everyone," he says, and from the look on his face, I knew he'd do it. I relented, shrugging the person off to walk by my self. We sat down in the chairs near Dan and Phil, Dan scooting as far away from me as was allowed on his seat with Phil.

Damien sat down across from Phil, and the other person sat down next to me. I was sitting across from Dan. It didn't look like a comfortable arrangement.

"So, Tom," the person talked in a low voice, "You're acquainted with us?" I shrugged. They raised their blonde eyebrows. I thought those manicured strips of hair deserved another shiny piercing.

"I, uh, met Damien," I stuttered, and Damien winced. I continued, "...and I'm definitely, uh, acqainted with him," I nodded toward Dan, and he glared back at me through his brown eyes, which looked a lot like mine through the anger.

I looked at my hands. "Well, I'm Candor, and that's Phil, Dan's boyfriend." They gestured toward the boy with the bluish black hair that was crammed into the seat with Dan. Dan leaned forward, slightly in front of Phil, and I could tell it was Dan's involuntary means of protecting him.

"Tom's got something to tell us," Candor said, and my heart beat harder. I found myself very short of breath. I struggled to inhale, and then with my exhale I said,

"I don't know how to describe it," my voice shook and I knew soon it would be unintelligible. I tried not to hyperventilate. I felt dizzy. Being high didn't help either, the marijuana helping to turn my thoughts to mush.

Damien leaned over to whisper in Candor's ear. Nodding, they leaned over to whisper in mine. "Transgender," they breathed, and I shook my head. "Just say it," they said, "One word. We can help you," suddenly, their face was softer, more kind. This confused me. I didn't do anything to deserve any kindness.

Swallowing, I did what they told me. I choked on the word as I said it only loud enough for this single corner of the universe to hear. Only it felt like announcing it to the whole world. Every body's eyes widened, their surprised faces almost exactly the same.

Well, except for Dan. Dan kept his face fierce, still glaring at me. I could see his hesitation, him wanting to break, but he took a deep breath and held his face. His gaze felt like fire. It broke my heart, even though I knew I deserved it. I deserved nothing more than his absolute hatred, especially after what I'd done to him. He didn't know it was me, at least not yet, but I knew it was me who had put those bruises on his face. His arms, his sides. I took my own anger out on him, and that was no one's fault but mine. So I deserved it.

Absent mindedly, I rubbed my knuckles. They were still bruised from that day in the alley... other than punching Dan and my bedroom wall, I'd also punched the wall in the alley. It made me feel sick thinking about it.

Phil looked at him then. He gave a confused look to Dan. Phil nudged him in the ribs with his elbow and both me and I winced along with Dan. He had a bruise there, and I knew it. I had decked him square in the ribs, and I'm sure it left a bruise in the shape of my knuckles. I was still rubbing my hand, not thinking, feeling the tension in the room suffocating me. I was already light headed from hyperventilating, even though I'd stopped, and I didn't have half the mind to hide my hands from sight.

Dan was looking at me. He opened his mouth to say something but Candor cut him off before he got a word out. "We're going to help her figure this   
out," they said, taking off their sunglasses. 

It gave me a jolt to hear someone call me her instead of him. "Are you okay?" Candor raised an eye brow.

I looked at them. "Are you a boy?" was all I could think to blurt out. I gasped and covered my mouth, but all Candor did was laugh.

"Honey, I'll let you know I'm neither a boy or a girl," they said, "I'm agender, which means instead of being a boy or a girl, I feel neutral in gender. My pronouns are they/them, like 'they are cute' or 'talk to them.' " This confused me even more.

"What are pronouns?" I asked dumbly. That was all I could think to ask was dumb questions.

This time Phil piped up. "Pronouns are she, him, they, and the like. If you're a girl, you might prefer she pronouns," he recited it more than he said it, like a promise instead of a suggestion.

"Don't you want to choose a different name, too?" Dan spoke up. My head was swimming. I could change my name?

"Yeah, lots of trans people do it," Phil replied. I hadn't known I'd spoke aloud. I had never known all this. The more information I got, the better it sounded.

"Choose carefully," Candor warned, "Your name should mean a lot to you." I smiled. I wasn't sure if I was crazy, and I still had my doubts, but it was starting to sound... okay. Like I wasn't a freak. If Candor could comfortably exist as something I've never even heard of, I could be a girl, right?

I put my hand over my mouth in astonishment. "This is amazing," I mumbled.

"What's with your hand?" I looked up to see Dan giving me that piercing glare again. It made me want to shrink, or blow away in the wind, or something. I was ashamed of what I did, I really was.

"I punched my wall," I replied automatically. It was a perfect lie, of course. I'm a fantastic liar. I watched Dan shake his head. "What?" I asked.

He looked down. I followed his gaze, not sure what he was getting at. He pulled the hem of his short up on the left side, exposing a bruise shaped like my fist. Phil caught sight, Candor had already been staring, Damien followed not long after, and my eyes were frozen to the spot.

"Tom," Dan said slowly, and I felt my stomach drop straight into hell. "Give me your hand." he sounded as numb as I felt. I reached out my right hand, knowing it would just be playing bullshit to give him my left. I was shaking, and I could tell Dan already knew what he would find when I held out my hand.

Pressing my knuckles to his side, I heard him suck in a breath. I squeezed my eyes shut. He could hit me, he could scream, but I swear, I wasn't laying another hand on him. Not ever again. Even if he was going to kill me, I'd deserve it, because all he ever did was be himself and I was so jealous, so envious, that I decided to hurt him. Actually, I hoped he would kill me.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to die.

Dan shoved my hand away. He stood up very quietly and I began to get the sickening feeling that things were about to fly off the handle.

"You," he clenched his fists at his side, "are a fucking psychopath," he spat the word like acid. He was seething, I  noticed. "What in the bloody fucking world could possess you to DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!" The sight of his anguished face killed me inside. 

Damien stood up. "Dan," he began, but Dan did not let him finish. By this time, all the people in the room had hushed, all heads turned to stare at the boy whose screaming was fit to wake the dead. Even the heavily intoxicated party goers had found a counter, wall, or friend to lean on. My own head was still buzzing and I did my best to ignore it as I tried to connect my conscience enough to do damage control.

"Do you know," he yanked his shirt up with both hands this time, showing his  and sides painted black and blue. I wasn't sure how I'd managed to do so much damage. "What the fuck this did to me?!" 

"I-"

"No!" he snapped, cutting me clean off, scrunching his eyes closed and then opening them. "This didn't just hurt. It affected my entire life. I'm afraid to walk down the fucking street!" I flinched as he spat the last words of those sentences.

Phil grabbed his arm, ready to mediate. Dan looked ready to jump on me. I stood up awkwardly. Dan took a step forward, taking it as a challenge. Phil squeezed his shoulder as a warning. I backed toward the door, taking careful steps backwards. I wanted to get out of there before things got too heated. 

I'm sorry to say that I didn't sprint out of there like I should have.

"Dan, I'm sorry," my consolation meant nothing to him, I knew that, but I wanted to try anyway.

This time he broke away from Phil and shoved me. I stumbled back, falling over the chair I'd just been sitting in. Now both Phil and Damien were reaching for Dan, trying to pull him back, but he shrugged them both off. He stood staring at me, that piercing glare like lasers. I didn't take it as a good sign.

Phil was whispering in his ear now, trying to calm him down, but he wasn't having it. Dan's short reply was enough to make Phil back away, looking hurt. Damien backed away as well, joining Phil. I stood all alone. 

I was expecting Dan to yell some more, throw a punch, some thing close to what a normal person would do in that situation.

All he did was speak one sentence. He spoke it loudly and clearly, but with out shouting, every one in the room was quiet enough to hear. 

"You stupid, transgender freak," he said. The words stung like a bullet. He had shot to kill, and I could feel the ricochet as the room exploded around me.

The silence shattered like glass. I could hear taunts and slurs thrown at me from around the room. There were a few sympathetic souls murmuring in the back, trying to stop it, but there were very few of them and they were ineffective. That was the moment I decided to get out of there.

The cool air stung my face as I yanked the door open and slammed it behind me. I was already crying again, tears blurring my vision. I was planning to speed off in my truck, but I had left my keys with my bag inside. No way was I going back in there.

As I walked down the darkened street, the thought of my own stupidity could have killed me all by itself. I told my biggest secret to a stranger, then I let him talk me into telling more strangers, along with one person who I knew had hated my guts from the beginning. And I'd thought nothing would happen?

I didn't know how long I'd been walking, but I came across the Millenium bridge. 

I leaned over the railing, the cool air and mist from the water below doing nothing to calm my raging thoughts. I thought about how every one knew I was transgender, how every one knew I was a freak or was going to know very soon. I thought about the taunts, slurs of faggot and tranny being hissed into my ear as I pass by even the nicest of the seemingly ruthless teenagers that populate our school. Getting shoved around in the halls and beat up in the bathrooms and locker rooms.

I cried, tears burning like acid. I thought about Dan the most in those minutes up there on the bridge. We could have been friends. Good friends, I was sure of it. He could have helped me, he would have accepted me. Who else would be more accepting than the boy who dared to wear dresses?

I looked down into the sloshing waters. I knew it would be ice cold. I could feel the breeze coming off the water, and it was chilly.

It was the thought of Dan that propelled me up the railing of the bridge. He hadn't deserved what I had done to him. I was dangerous to every one around me, and what I did to him proved it point blank.

I sat on the railing, legs dangling over the wrong side. It was the right side for what I was doing, though. It didn't feel like it, but I convinced myself it was.

I scrunched my eyes shut and locked my body against the sick feeling of vertigo.

Preparing myself to jump off the Millennium bridge.


	15. I Swear I'd Burn This City Down (With Us in It)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING(S)  
> TRIGGER WARNING: TRANSPHOBIA  
> TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT (DESCRIBED IN DETAIL)  
> TRIGGER WARNING: MENTION OF TRAUMA (GAY CAMP REFERENCED MILDLY)

Damien's P.O.V

I watched her as she slammed the door behind her, rustling a breeze through out the room. The people who had been screaming insults at Tom just moments before turned toward each other to begin gossiping, no doubt already perpetuating inaccurate and scathing rumors.

I stood next to Phil, and I was positive he was the only one anywhere near as shocked as I was. I looked at him, his blue eyes reflecting confusion. He looked over at Dan, who still stood where he had been when he'd said the thing that would probably ruin Tom's life.

Candor was already moving, rushing to get their things together. "Come on," they said, "We have to go after her." They grabbed their jacket off the couch and turned to us. Their eyes were wild, light brown reflecting anxiety. Dan crossed his arms. I grabbed my jacket and Phil's off the couch.

Phil gave Dan a sad glance. It didn't look like he was planning to go with us. "Dan," Phil started, "What you did is unforgivable. You know that, right?" Dan stood still, not talking, looking into Phil's eyes with what I could only guess was shame.

"What he did to me was worse," Dan pulled the most sorry excuse in the book, and he knew it. He put on that fierce face again, but this time it was faltering, like it had no conviction left in it. Phil sighed.

"No, Daniel," Phil used his full name, and Dan flinched, "That doesn't make it right." Phil struggled to say what he said next, and it hurt me to hear it as much as it hurt Phil to say it. "If that's how you reacted, maybe you deserved what you got." Phil took his jacket from my arms, and turned to follow Candor out of the door. I was the last out, looking back just in time to see Dan had dropped to his knees on the carpet, sobbing. I understood why.

If I was Phil, the relationship would already be over.

 

Phil's P.O.V

I saw the way Damien looked at me. I was no stranger to the memories of our time together. The problem was, the bad memories got in the way. I tried to push them out of my head. I wasn't looking for romance here, I was tracking down a girl whose life Dan had just ruined.

I wasn't sure if Dan and me were broken up or not. I could tell Damien was thinking the same thing. We sat in the back of Candor's truck together, Candor trying to navigate the dark streets. "Do any of you know where he lives? He could have gone to his house," I looked at Damien. He shook his head.

I leaned forward behind Candor's seat, "Neither of us know," I said.

"If she went to her house, wouldn't she be safe?" Damien asked. Candor and me shook our heads.

"Not if she's home alone," I said, "There's probably a thousand unsafe things she could be doing at home alone, especially after she stormed out like that," Damien gave me a look that said that's what he'd been expecting.

Damien glanced toward Candor, then leaned toward me and whispered, "Are you and Dan okay? I saw him crying on the floor before we left," Damien shifted, obviously uncomfortable with our proximity, scooting closer only for the purpose of not being overheard by our friend in the front seat.

"I don't know," I said honestly, "I honestly haven't even known him for that long, but that seems really out of character for him to do. It's not right to out someone like that, and I'm not sure I can even be friends with someone who would do that, let alone be more than friends." Damien looked down, his dark hair obscuring his face. It was a lot longer than when I had last seen him.

"You grew your hair out," I commented absently, more than anything to change the heartbreaking subject of ending my relationship with Dan. I didn't want to think about it any more, at least not tonight. He tugged on his hair unconsciously. It was down to his shoulders, and with how thick it was I imagined that it was very heavy. I could barely handle having my hair down past my neck.

"I want it longer," he said.

"How long?" I asked. He shrugged.

"I guess when it makes me uncomfortable, I'll cut it," I nodded. Candor looked at us through the rear view mirror, adjusting it. I wondered if they were making sure nothing happened between me and Damien, if they didn't want something to happen that would hinder my ability to fix things with Dan.

Maybe they were right.

Damien's P.O.V.

We stayed silent for awhile after he finished asking the questions about my hair. I felt it was a comfortable silence, and I wondered if Philip felt likewise. I had been hoping my attraction toward him would be gone after all these years, but I think we both knew what the truth was. I hadn't forgot about him, and if I wasn't wrong, he hadn't forgot about me either.

I had wondered about him a lot over these years. After we both left EastRidge, both our parents quickly moved and neither of us knew where the other lived. All we knew was what had happened to the other at the camp, and that was only because those who chose to tell us wanted us to feel the pain of knowing our former love interest had been put through the same torture we had.

I swallowed, trying to push the pain and the misery back down to where it couldn't touch me. I didn't want the memories, I wished they were gone, but I couldn't erase them. They were burned onto my soul. 

"Phil," I whispered. He turned his head toward me. Suddenly, his face disappeared, replaced by nightmares I'd worked so hard to forget. Bruises, screaming, not knowing what I had done wrong by loving boys and girls.

"Are you okay?" he asked. It brung me back, and his face blurred back into view. I shook my head. "What's wrong?" his second question. I had known it was coming, but it didn't stop me as I cried into his shoulder. What wasn't wrong? Hadn't everything been wrong since that day in March?

"EastRidge," I said into the side of his neck. He'd angled toward me, hugging me to his chest and trying to calm my sobs. I slumped forward, leaning into the hug.

"I remember," he said, "They told me a lot of things about what happened to you... were they all true?" I shrugged. Neither of us knew.

"I don't know what they told you," I struggled to calm my breathing. Both of us were sobbing, hyperventilating messes. Flashbacks threatened to drown me, although it didn't feel like water. It felt like I was on fire.

"Videos," he choked on another sob. I nodded. I remembered the videos, videos no fourteen-year-old should have to be forced to watch. They were adult videos, and we watched so many of them that I'm sure neither of us escaped the trauma we were bound to have.

I looked up at him. He looked down at me. He was four inches taller than I was, and I appreciated the fact that his height somehow made me feel safe. His eyes burned baby blue, so much like my own that I swear I could see my own memories reflected in his eyes. 

"Do you think EastRidge is still open?" he asked, and that shocked me. I hadn't thought that it would still be open- that it COULD still be open- after I left. I figured it had been shut down long ago, but hadn't actually given it much thought. I shook my head slowly.

"It... it would have had to be shut down, wouldn't it?" Phil shrugged.

"By law," he said, "It should be. But that doesn't mean that it is. Do you think those people care about the law?" It hurt me to accept the fact that he was right. No matter what the law, the people who ran EastRidge would continue doing what they were doing for as long as possible regardless of who told them that they weren't allowed. 

"We need to find out," I said into his shoulder, his silky shirt muffling my words slightly. "If we can find it, we can shut it down." Phil nodded.

Candor readjusted the rear view mirror again, this time to look directly at us. "I think I already know," they said, sadness apparent in their voice, "But I want to hear you say it: what exactly is EastRidge?" They turned around, hand braced on the side of their seat, to get a better view of us.

Me and Phil gave each other a knowing look. We had never told any one about EastRidge, fear forcing us to keep our mouths shut.

"It was-is? A gay camp," Phil let out a breath. Candor nodded grimly, speeding up, way above the speed limit as they had already been going way too fast before that. Candor bit their lip.

"I don't know where she would be," Candor mumbled frustratedly. 

I shook my head. There was a chance we wouldn't be seeing her again.

Ever.

Dan's P.O.V.

I pulled the truck out of the driveway sloppily, running over the curb and sidewalk. I swear I left tire marks on the driveway. I reminded myself of Candor.

Tears still blurred my eyes, and I drove blind for a couple seconds while I wiped them away with my hand. The rest of my friends, Damien, Candor, and my probably ex-boyfriend, Phil, left almost ten minutes ago.

I'd come in Candor's car, since I didn't have my own, but I'd found Tom's keys in her bag on the couch, which was now sitting in the passenger seat of her truck by me. Before I got in, I took a few minutes to rifle through it, and I did not like what I found. Weed, a water bottle full of alcohol, and razors. Tom obviously needed help.

I gripped the steering wheel. I was pretty sure I was the only one who knew where Tom lived, so Candor and Phil and Damien could search the streets, but I knew where I was headed. Her house wasn't far away, and as I pulled in the driveway I could tell no one was home, besides possibly Tom, seeing as I had her car and there were no other vehicles in sight.

I climbed out of the truck easily, kicking up rocks in the gravel drive. I walked up the dark path to the front porch, climbed up short steps. I looked in through the dark windows, cupped my hands around my eyes for a better view. I couldn't see any lights on, or any type of movement in the dark. I held my ear to the door. I couldn't hear any sounds through the door either, which I figured was either really good or really, really bad.

Tentatively, I knocked on the door. No response. I knocked louder, then gave up, unsurprised. If she was planning to hurt herself, she definitely wouldn't answer the door. I walked around to the side of the house. There was a window open, on the first floor. I really didn't want to break into her house, but I figured this could be life or death, and it was the only way to make it up to her and everyone else.

I climbed through the window quietly, didn't bother to turn the light on. I quickly checked each room, double checking the bathroom, the kitchen, and finally, Tom's bedroom. I looked more carefully there, in the closet and under the bed. She wasn't there.

As I turned to leave, I saw a notebook on the desk that caught my attention. It had a big symbol on it, the female gender sign. I picked it up, flipping through pages. They were journal entries, dated, and I could tell it was about her being transgender, even if she didn't know it. I sat the notebook down, hastily making to leave the house.

Suddenly, I heard a noise. There was a slam down the hallway from me. My heartbeat quickened, practically skipping. I moved quickly toward the window. I wasted no time jumping out, falling on my side. I winced where the ground slammed into my bruised ribs.

Standing up, I heard shuffling from inside and a light flicked on. Was it Tom? I peeked carefully over the window sill. There was an old man in his forties, that I guessed was one of Tom's parents. I choked on my breath, ducking below the window as he swung his gaze toward me.

I scrambled away from the window, getting dirt on my jeans. Rushing to the truck, I jumped in and slammed the gas like my life depended on it. I screeched out of a driveway for the second time that night, barely looking back to see a bewildered Mr. Evans peering out of the front door.

Speeding down the street, my heart beat so hard I could barely drive. I could feel it in my entire chest, my throat, and in my ears. I struggled to breath. That had been nerve racking. I should have left, or called the cops to come check it out, not risked felony charges trespassing.

I cursed under my breath. I still hadn't found her, and I knew the more time I wasted the closer she could be to getting hurt. I tried to think. She stormed off extremely upset, she could be trying to hurt or kill herself, and she wasn't at home. Where would she be?

Suddenly I had a thought. I slammed the brakes, stopping at a gleaming red stop sign. Damien's house was in close proximity to a major bridge, and the Millennium bridge wasn't too far from where I was now.

I pushed on the gas again, driving insanely fast toward my destination. I reached it in about ten minutes. I jumped out of the car, not even bothering to close it. I could see a figure, far away, almost a shadow dangling half off the bridge. 

I raced toward the figure, no doubt in my mind on whose legs were dangling over the edge of that bridge. She didn't hear me come up behind her, either that or she ignored me.

She pushed herself closer to the edge, and if she could hear me I was sure she didn't care.

Then she went over.

Phil's P.O.V.

My heart had never beat harder in my life as we talked about EastRidge, next to when I was actually in EastRidge. I had to hold my breath to even utter the one sentence, that EastRidge was a gay camp. I heard Candor mumble something from the front and saw Damien shaking his head. I watched his thick black hair swish into his face before he brushed it away.

Looking at him, I had no doubt I still had feelings for Damien. He was the first boy I fell in love with, and for some inexplicable reason, I knew that in a way, I would always be in love with him. I could feel it in my chest, the warmth that wanted to kindle there, and burn. The lurch in my stomach. Damien caught my eye, watched me watching him for a few silent moments.

He scooted closer, and I felt my stomach lurch again. I let him move to me, him leaving a few centimeters of space between us. I angled toward him, and he compensated by angling his body in a way that was complementary to mine. I touched his waist, and he leaned into my hand.

Somehow, our faces had gotten closer along with the rest of us. It wasn't a surprise, really. As our lips moved closer, I suddenly I forgot about Candor in the front seat, and our mission to find a girl who was probably suicidal. I forgot about my current boyfriend, how me and Dan weren't technically broken up and that I'd been planning to try and work it out. I forgot everything but the boy whose lips were pressed to mine and my arms were locked around.

All I could think about was how we never really got to do all the things boyfriends do, how being boyfriends would be less dangerous now that I lived with my aunt and uncle and we were sneakier, how I wanted so badly to finish what we started.

How even Dan couldn't make the flashbacks go away like Damien could. There were so many memories to be sorted through, feelings to ponder.

I wanted to feel them all with him.

 

Tom's P.O.V.

I heard the sound of someone behind me, feet slamming concrete, but whoever it was wouldn't change my mind. In fact, it made up my mind, if I hadn't already decided at that point.

My life didn't flash before my eyes, but I chose to try and sort through the memories of my broken life. It turned out useless, though, as I quickly figured out that none of them were worth remembering. So I decided to skip over that small detail.

I pushed off the railing, my wrist grazing a piece of jagged metal as I propelled myself off the bridge, and I could feel the sting of blood beading. My stomach lurched in that sickening feeling of vertigo that you get once the ground disappears from under you, the feel of open air, and the rush of adrenaline at the thought of what I was doing. I threw my hands into the air, wanting to feel the wind through my fingers.

Then my wrists were practically yanked out of the sockets.

Something pulled tight around my wrists, painfully tight. It felt like my wrists broke as momentum and gravity stopped my fall dead in its tracks. Needless to say, I couldn't feel my hands and my wrists felt like they were on fire.

I swayed gently, looking down to see the water beneath me, beckoning me. Find a way to get them to let go, it said. My eyes were glued to the water beneath me, but I could see that there were hands locked around my wrists, fingernails digging into my skin. I tried twisting my arms, but I didn't have the strength and one of my arms was injured from that piece of metal on the bridge railing. 

I felt the sting of the cut, the hands around my wrists helping to open it up more, obviously caring more about keeping me away from gravity and the water below than my bleeding wrist. My stomach dropped at the thought that I was being saved. Saved. All I wanted was to feel the hard slap of the water, and if that didn't kill me, my bones breaking. Then being dragged under, pushed around, water swelling up around me and smothering the oxygen out of my lungs. Then, finally, darkness.

The two hands around my wrists were the only things stopping me from all I wanted in that moment: to die. To finally feel no pain, no suffering, just darkness. Evanescence. I wanted it all to stop, like hitting the power button on the television.

"Tom, you have to help me pull you up," for a second I didn't recognize the voice above me. Then suddenly, I knew it wasn't a police officer like I had thought. I pulled my head up, painstakingly, to view the person who the hands belonged to. I caught my breath.

He was not at all what I was expecting.

 

Dan's P.O.V.

She looked up at me, shock registering in her eyes. I was doing my best to hold her, but she was going to fall if I didn't pull her up soon. She shook her head, and I lurched as the movement almost threw my hold off balance.

I was lucky that I managed to grab ahold of her in the first place. It had been a wild, desperate grab, and my luck had held out as my hands had locked around her wrists, although rather ungracefully. The force of gravity had wrenched me forward, almost dropping her, jamming my waist against the railing.

I was leaning over the rail, it digging into my waist more and more the longer I held on. I was slowly being forced to hang farther and farther over the edge, gravity fighting me with everything it had, inching me closer to the open air and water below. The sight was dizzying.

Tom's right arm was slick with blood, and I was doing my best to dig in and get a grip on it. Suddenly, she's twisting her arms around, trying to shake me free. It pulled me farther forward, my stomach slipping over the railing alarmingly. I lock my legs around the poles holding up the rail, trying not to fall, refusing to let her go.

"If you don't help me pull you up," I panted, my breathing cut off by the metal rail of the bridge digging into my waist. "We're both going over." I sucked in a breath.

"Let me go, and you won't have to go with me," she replied, and it sounded pitiful.

"I won't. You either help me help you up, or you're responsible for both of our deaths," I spoke with breath I barely had. She inhaled sharply. That got her attention. She cared more about me than she did about herself. 

There were a few beats of silence, each longer and more agonizing than the next. Her right arm was covered in blood, and I knew that if I lost my grip on that arm that there was a large chance it would propel us both over, into the water and to death.

"Pull me up," she said, finally, quickly.

"Okay," I said, "I'm going to start pulling. You need to stop being dead weight. Don't move until I tell you," I start pulling, or trying to pull, except my arms are already burning and going numb. I steel myself and will my arms to work like never before, which helped me pull her a few centimeters closer to the bridge.

"Do a pull up, come to me," I said through a breathful of burning lungs. She did as I said, pulling farther on her left arm than her right. It disrupted the precarious balance of her suspension.

She swung wildly sideways, partly my fault as I tried to overcompensate for her mistake. She should have only pulled as far as her right arm would go, the same on her left arm. She screamed, me letting out a small cry as well. In the moment, I somehow had half the brain to use the momentum to our advantage.

"Get your legs on the ledge! Aim for the ledge!" I screamed, and she wildly kicked out a leg and it caught rather painfully, hooking under a piece of the bridge. It was then sudden death. She was suspended, half sideways, with one foot hooked under.

"Okay, I'm going to let go of your left arm, and grab your leg. Then, I'm pulling you up. Make sure to throw all your weight toward me," I told her the plan, speaking quickly, the bridge digging into my waist extremely painfully. All she did was nod.

"One," I said, bracing myself. "Two," almost ready... "Three!" I heaved, and she swung her weight as hard as she could toward me, and suddenly we were both toppling backward over the railing of the Millennium bridge.

I landed on my back, and without even a half second warning she slammed on top of me, knocking my already nonexistent breath out of my lungs. She rolled off me, panting, looking like a scared deer in headlights as she stared at me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, less out of breath than I was. I nodded, then pointed to her wrist. She held it up. It was covered in blood, still spilling out. Not a major injury per se, but definitely something to worry about. She wrapped it in her shirt.

It took us more than a few minutes to catch our breath. We must've sat in almost-silence for thirty minutes, panting and hyperventilating and crying and occasionally screaming. Eventually, though, we settled down, exhausted from lack of breath and the high-wired adrenaline still pumping through our veins.

"I know it means nothing, but I'm sorry," I confess, almost unable to look at her. It didn't escape me how it was ironic that I was the one feeling pathetic at this moment, that I was the one apologizing. She put up a hand.

"Apology accepted. You risked your life for me. There was more than an eighty percent chance you could have died saving me back there," she said it as if it were far away, as if we weren't leaning against the railing that she'd just tried to jump over.

I shook my head, wiping sweat away from my face. My shirt was soaked with blood, tears, and sweat. It wasn't a pleasant look or smell. I shuddered.

"Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?" my voice quavered. She didn't owe me any answers, but I figured I had nothing to lose with her anymore. She nodded. I took in a deep breath.

"How did Damien know you were trans?" she inhaled sharply. My heart skipped a beat. "You don't have to answer," I say quickly, but she puts up her hand again.

"We were kissing in the garage. He's gay, though, so I got upset because he thought he was kissing a guy." She gave me a sad look. A dysphoric look, I knew, as she crossed her arms over her chest.

I gave her a confused look. "What?" She asked.

"Damien is bisexual, not gay," I said. She gave me a surprised look.

"Really?" she asked, and I nodded for about the millionth time.

 

"Almost like me," I said, "I'm pansexual, though." She looked at her feet and put her chin to her chest.

"Damn it," she says quietly. "I really am stupid," she went on. I shook my head and scooted closer to her. I put my arm around her.

"It's okay," I say, touching her shoulder, and she flinches away from my touch like it was fire.

"No, it's not. Damien is never going to love a suicidal girl, who tried to jump off a bridge on the first night they kissed," she says dejectedly, "No one would."

"There are a lot of people who would love you," I say, and she shakes her head vigorously. "I would," I said softly.

She gave me a look, a one of sparked interest. Then, suddenly, I was leaning closer to her. Suddenly, she was so beautiful, it was painful. Suddenly, my lips were on hers and I pushed the thought of Phil out of my mind as I kissed her. Me and Phil were probably over, I thought. Either way, I don't think I could have stopped even if me and Phil were together. Even if Phil proposed.

We moved our lips over each other's, sort of sloppy from combined inexperience. I ran my fingers through her hair. It was short, but half grown out. I felt layers of soft, thick brown hair under my fingertips.

Faintly, I heard a car pull up behind us. Doors slamming, feet stomping, yelling. I heard it all, but I was determined to keep my lips smashed against hers. We were both desperate, needy. We had both been at dead ends tonight, and it showed. Eventually, though, we both knew something was off. We pushed off each other, turning around to see Candor dragging Damien and Phil by the wrists toward us.

Candor screamed in what looked like frustration when they saw us. They tugged their blonde hair, which was freshly cut. "No, no, no! Do you have to throw it all off, too? Really?!" Candor looked like they were falling out. Me and Tom looked around, confused.

They pointed a finger at us. "We saw you. You were kissing," Candor said menacingly. "You and Phil were still together." They cut a look at Phil. "He said so himself." Phil nodded, remorsefully. I hung my head. I had thought we were over.

"Let me give you the run down," they seethed, carrying on, "Tom kissed Damien. Boom! They shouldn't be kissing anyone else tonight. But, no," Candor looked at Damien this time. "Damien here," they switched their gaze to Phil, "Is making out with Phil in the back while we're looking for her," Candor points their finger at Tom, like a weapon. "And now, you two are kissing too!" Candor kicked the ground with the side of her beat up converse, chipping of a piece of the purple-white-green stripes painted on.

When Candor looked up, I was crying again. Candor was still seething. "Do you know what that means?" Me, Damien, Phil, and Tom shook our heads in unison. Tom was shaking badly, Phil had tears streaming down his face, and Damien was oddly quiet.

"Every single one of you cheated on each other tonight," Candor had managed to lower their voice from a scream to a high-pitched stagger of anger. "Dan," Candor addressed me specifically this time, "When I met you, you swore that when you left this city, you'd burn it down, if only to show Phil how beautiful it was. Did that mean nothing?" I shook my head, but Candor wasn't watching anymore.

Candor looked at each of us in turn, with a glare that was both intensely angry and intensely sorrowful. It seemed they had very little left to say. "When I leave, I'm burning this city with you in it," they said quietly. Then Candor climbed back into their car and turned the ignition. "Find your own ride home!" They shouted, before screeching off in the other direction, driving like a maniac more than ever now.

We all looked at each other after the sound of tires screeching disappeared into the distance. "What now?" Tom asked. We all looked at her. Phil took in a shaky breath.

"Dan," he said, his voice quavering, "I think we need to take a break," he said. Even though I'd expected it, it still made my heart shatter to hear it said out loud. It wasn't a surprise. He cheated on me with Damien, I cheated on him with Tom.

"Me and Phil have some things we need to work out," Damien chimed in, "Dead ends to tie up, and memories to work through." He gave a shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping. I glanced at Tom.

"We both need someone," I started, tripping over my words in haste. I grabbed her hand, the one that wasn't still bleeding, and rubbed my thumb over her bruised knuckles. "I could help you transition, choose a name, pick a wardrobe." Tom turned her hand over to lace her fingers with mine.

"Okay." Was all she said, and I took it as confirmation.

"What about Candor?" Phil asked, looking in the direction of the tire marks left behind from Candor's truck. 

"Maybe they'll come around," I suggest, but I'm not sure anyone believes me. I stood up, and helped Tom up. "We should take you to the hospital," I say, gingerly holding her wrist.

"No," she says, "It's stopped bleeding, and it's not that bad. We can fix it up at home. Besides, what reason will we give as to how it got cut? My dad will send me away to the Asylum if he finds out what I did." I sighed. It probably wouldn't hurt to get actual medical attention, but she was right. That would be bad. "Okay," I say, "But we need to get you help with that stuff. The- the suicidal stuff. Counseling. My mom is a counselor, so we can get you help without your dad, even," I spit the last part out as quickly as possible.

"Okay," she says again, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She deserves better than what she's gotten so far.

"I need to get home," Damien says, "We all need to. I've called Helena and she's gotten everyone to leave my house. Phil," Phil turned toward him, "You can stay at my place for the night if you want to. I don't think anyone here wants to be alone." Phil gave him a heartfelt hug and accepted the offer. I knew it was irrational but I felt a stab of jealousy.

"You can stay at my house, Tom," I said, and she hums in what I guessed was confirmation.

"We can give you guys a ride," Tom says, but Damien and Tom refuse.

"It's not far away, we can walk back to my house in ten minutes tops." Damien says. I get the feeling that after the night's events, he doesn't think squishing all of us in a vehicle is a good thing to do. They turn and leave. I notice that Dan glances back over his shoulder slightly. I watch them until they disappear, shadows against the dark of the 1 P.M. sky.

"I can drive us back," Tom says, and we both walk slowly to his truck. We jump in, and he starts the car, straightening it out on the bridge from where I had haphazardly parked it in my haste to save her from herself.

Tom drove over to the nearest Burger King, but when she asked me if I was hungry I knew I wouldn't have the appetite to eat anything. In the end, we didn't go back to my house, we fell asleep in her truck, arms laced around each other, sleeping sitting up. I was glad to have someone, even if the person I knew I should have been with was with someone else, and so was I.

What Candor said was true: I swore that I would burn this city down for Phil. It was still true. Friend or boyfriend, I would do that to show him how special he was to me.

I also knew that the threat Candor made was not unfounded. I deserved to burn in this city for being so inconsiderate. We all did. Somehow, I hoped that Candor would make good on that threat. It would make it all so much less complicated.

I made another vow right then and there: 

If everything was still broken, at the end, if we were all still in the wrong...

I 

would 

burn 

that 

city 

down

with

all

of

us

in

it.


End file.
